


Night of the Hornet

by Darklady



Series: Hornet-verse [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Green Hornet (1940) movie serial
Genre: 1940s, Background Slash, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price love? Two generations join for justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's the Buzz?

**Author's Note:**

> All Bat-related characters may be assumed to be from the Comic universe, and about ten years before the current DCU timeline. Richard Grayson is a member of the Bludhaven Police, slightly past rookie status. All Hornet related characters are drawn from mixed media, but should be viewed in the time line of the movie serials with Warren Hull and Keye Luke. Some radio references are also used. *No Reference Whatsoever* is made to the Batman TV series, in which the Batman and Green Hornet meet.
> 
> The name of Lee is used as a tribute to the well-known actor, but no other reference or identification is intended. Various small fan fiction references have been incorporated as a tribute to the writers. (Will not be noted. Spot them if you can!)
> 
> Thanks: To Anne Higgins for her Green Hornet fic, which started me thinking.
> 
> This is the start of the 'Hornetverse.

A shadow. Moving. The alley by the old Red Horse Garage. Interesting.

I've been on the roof over an hour now, watching the suits in the Buick watching the street. Nothing yet to bust them for. Not as Officer Grayson. Maybe not as Nightwing. Maybe.

I'd been by earlier in my blues. Done the Officer Friendly bit. Driver introduced himself as Mike Carlin. ID said a PI out of Central City. Had Babs run it. Probably legit. Big company. Major bucks for a stake out on an unused warehouse. Passenger had a business card. Robert Kane, Esq. of Dixon, McDaniel, Vincenzo, and Kane. Them I knew - through Bruce. Power players in civil law; big time, big name, big money. With a big problem if its enough to keep even a junior partner drinking styrofoam coffee in a rented Buick all day and past sunset here in the armpit of Bludhaven. Possibly my problem. They were camped a little to close to home base to make me comfortable, so...I watched them watch.

Now. Something interesting. Movement too careful to be casual. A pro. But not too good if they hadn't made me yet, or had but didn't care. Not too good, or so good that I didn't matter. I had the nightvision glasses. Focus.

Holy...old Mr. Lee? The vegetable man? OK, he lived in an apartment across the street. Had forever. But what was he doing playing ninja in an alley? And where the *hell* had he learned to do it that well?

Damn it, I knew Mr. Lee. He was a nice old man. A retired grocer. Played Go in the park in Saturdays. Came in to Hogan's now and then for a beer, and to watch baseball. Grew fancy mushrooms for Clancy. He was *not* the type to ghost down alleys and slide through locked second story windows - except that he just had.

OK. Check the rent-a-dick. Still sitting. Watching the front door. Probably bored into a coma by now. Hasn't seen a thing. Keep it that way.

Signal Babs that I'm following. She can run a check on Lee while I see what he's up to.

Move to the not-quite-locked window. Interesting. It is a garage. The outside of the building may look abandoned, but the inside looks ready to roll. Computer. Machine tools. A heavy black car on a lift, but only a few inches off the floor. Looks like the grandfather of the Batmobile - on steroids. Old, but still mean. Not your average Sunday drive. Wire front closet. It's hard to see thru the heavy mesh but some clothes, coats maybe, and - oh shit - an arsenal. Several pistols at least, probably a rifle in the back. Exactly what type of vegetables did this guy sell?

From the sound he's gone to the next room. Watching the watchmen. I take the chance to slip inside. Whatever this is, it's serious - and much too close to home.

Down the wall. Move behind the car. Behind the workbench. Whatever it is he's doing in here, I'm grateful he's kept the place spotless. Moving over dust is a dead giveaway. Even without footprints, the air patterns are hard to miss. Somehow I don't think my ‘sweet old neighbor’ misses anything.

Check the weapons first. Nasty looking, heavy caliber, but the door is locked. They probably won't be part of any immediate fight. That's a good sign. If he planned a shootout he would have come here first. Only one car. It's not a chop shop. An old suit, a heavy coat, a uniform? No living quarters. Not sex. Not illegals. No drug lab. No explosives. Not enough weapons to be dealing. Not enough of anything except the chumps out front sitting on their 'confidential matter' and the ninja grocer with a room of weird.

Move along the wall. Framed photos. Black and white and turning with age. White male in his twenties. Funky suit, double breasted, wide lapels, hat - say 1930 something. Asian male about the same age, perhaps a few years older. It could be Mr. Lee. The age would fit. Mounted newspaper clipping with a photo. Hard to make out but it could be the same guys... running towards a dark car. Hard to see the make. Are they holding guns? And...Oh, shit...is his face in shadow? Or... crap! The door. Roll under the bench. Freeze low and think invisible thoughts.

Another thump. A car door? He's in the center of the room, too close to risk a look. From the sound, he's loading something in the trunk. Movement, metal on metal, a shift of light. He's at the closet now. I can see his feet. It's a good time to jump him if his arms are full - but not if he just picked up one of the pistols. Also, I'm still not certain that I'd want to. I still can't picture Mr. Lee as a villain.

More sounds from the car. The trunk slamming shut. I risk a peek. The closet is empty. Good. There's a chance the guns are locked up again. Then the feet are back, walking along the photo wall. He's packing up. Also good. Whatever's going on, he's going to run rather than fight. Safer for everyone that way, and it gives me a chance to figure out which side I'm on before the firefight.

A grinding noise. That's the car lift coming down. A familiar sound, same as in the Batcave. Heavy doors opening. Hollow sounding. A tunnel? Risk another look. Be prepared to follow - fast.

A click. The hammer draw. He didn't need the closet, he was already carrying.

"Your pardon, but would you please to stand up...slowly. Keep both hand where I can see them, thank you."

Shit! Focus on the window. Two seconds. If he's ready he could get off one round. Kevlar should hold, but I'd rather not be hit if I can help it. Attack would take four seconds. Two shots, higher risk at closer range, and somehow I don't think he'd fire wide. Move slowly. Hands up. No fear, no threat, try to get close.

The soft voice again. "Ah, Mr. Nightwing. You are, I believe, one of the 'good guys'." Very polite, but the pistol shifts to stay on target. He *is* a pro. "But why do you visit an old man?"

Good question. Don't answer. "Your friends out front, why are they in Bludhaven?"

"An excellent question. You are not with them?"

"If I was, would they be sitting outside?"

"Perhaps, but I do not think you would work for them, and you would not need such boke to work for you. So, why do I find you here at such a time?"

Move left, clear of the bench. "You tell me. Who are you? What would a big Cleveland law firm want with an old Chinese grocer? I don't think they're here to buy fortune cookies."

Balance back. Remember the rafters. Shoot the line and spin and roll and kick out and - MISS! I hear the gun fall but the old man is somehow under my leg and coming up to hit above the knee. My leg goes numb and I ride up the line to get above him to come down but he's gone again and almost to the car. I launch the last line between his legs and it twists and retracts hard, taking him to the floor. I land by the workbench, still with only one leg, and grab the pistol. Only one second, but by the time I look up he's free of my line and standing again. He's good. Too good. I'm hurt. And I still don't know why I'm even in this fight. Time for tactics.

People fear their own weapon. Stay level. Keep the pistol in tight. "Answers. Now."

He's cautious, but still in position. "But Mr. Nightwing, I do know you. You do not use guns."

"That's the Bat. He's in Gotham."

"So you will shoot an old man? Without cause? You can put down the gun. Or keep it if you will. You will not harm an old man who does not threaten you. That is not what you do. That is not what you are. I know."

"No. But I'm willing to take out the windshield there. That should wake up your two friends. Whatever this is, you're willing to risk a lot to keep it. I don't think you'll abandon it if you don't have to. So why don't you just tell me which side of this fight I'm on. What is this? Who are you? And why are two clowns in overpriced suits looking for you?"

"Your error, Mr. Nightwing. They are not looking for me." He shifts forward. Less tense. Less likely to attack.

One of the frames is on the bench. I risk a glance. The newspaper article. "That's him... and you." It's not really a question. The Green...

A fast memory search. I need Babs. Early 'mystery men', reputation as gangsters, undercover, with the Nash boys, came out after they died...big story. "Oh shit. You're... Kato?"

"Sadly, no. Or you would not have the gun, and I would be gone from here. I am an old man named Lee, but ..."

"You didn't die in the fire. Somehow, you escaped. But if you're Kato, and that's Black Beauty, they're looking for the Hornet."

Noise from the front room. Metal on wood. The guys in the Buick must have gotten tired of the view, or figured the streets were empty enough to risk a little friendly B&E. A high risk for the suit type, but not too high. Decision. Now.

"Mr. Lee. You do…whatever. I can discourage your visitors."

Out the window. Hope I'm making the right choice, but damn it, the Hornet... Let's just say I identify with the secret identity bit. And, after all...

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

"Breaking and entering is against the law." I’ve switched back to blues – and that’s the color of his face when I flash my badge.

"Really, Officer, it's not what you think." Just the detective. The mouthpiece is likely somewhere around, but with the brains to make himself scarce once the plan got iffy. That's why he gets the big bucks.

"Richard Grayson, BHPD. Crowbar, lock pick, lying in wait, looks like felony to me." He was carrying, which made the bust easy. Central City permit, of course, but not local. I could be a hardass about it if I chose.

"As I explained earlier, I'm investigating a highly confidential matter. I have a letter from Claudia Bromley, the Senator, and..."

"And I don't care. If you don't have a deed to this shop or a key to the front door, you're going downtown. Now, assume the position. You know the drill."

He did. No sense picking a fight with some schmoe on a beat. If it mattered enough he could get my ass later, after his boss talked to my boss. And they would. I was pretty sure of that. Whoever was playing, whatever their game was, they would vanish this bust by morning. It might take a few hours, though. Hours I could use.

I called a black and white. Didn't ask the dispatcher for a rush. Slow was good. Ignored a few veiled threats while we waited, and handed Mr. P I over to Janson and Collazo when they arrived. Good cops. Don't know them well, but we've worked. Got out of the trip myself with a promise to do the paperwork first thing a.m. Not that I'd have to bother.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

Back to Nightwing. Back inside. Empty now. Well, not empty. Still a pretty fancy garage, but all of the interesting stuff was gone. No car. No toys. Good time to touch base with Babs.

Nothing on a B. Lee. At least, nothing much. Owns a few more buildings here and there. Maybe a bit more than his bank account says he should, but nothing to really tag. At least she confirms his home address. Nearby. Time for a visit.

A quick shot over some roofs. Check out the building. No blatant security. He was kind enough to rent a place with a balcony, but I don't take it. Trap for amateurs. Rope down. Kitchen window, over the sink. Always a safe bet. Nice counter to land on. Dark. Quiet. Means nothing. No sound but the lights flare on. Lenses in the mask protect my eyes. He doesn't look armed, isn't in position. I don't move.

"Mr. Nightwing. Would you care for tea?"

That's new, but... possible. I might be a friend. "I assume you put the evidence somewhere safe."

"Evidence? Mr. Nightwing?"

Down from the counter. No threat, but centered. Ready. "Talk to me. I rousted your friends for now, but they will be back. So far no real firepower, but that's next. So... Lee if you prefer... what are those men, and what do they really want?"

"They hunt a ghost. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"That's wasn't Dan Ackroyd sitting out front."

He pours hot water from the machine, walking past me. I am not a threat. "Come now. We will drink tea."

I follow him to the living room. No real choice. Levitz furniture, not bad but bland. Bought as a set. A little wear, but not shabby. Healthy looking bonsai. Good porcelain. He sets the teapot down on a tray with cups. Two cups. I was expected.

"I told you, they hunt a ghost. Not your western ghost. Not the ghosts in white that drift thru walls, but the real ghosts. The great ones that inhabit our fears and steal our sleep. The ones we fear more when we don't see them. The ones we fear when they do not appear. Those men work for a woman with such a ghost. One she will pay any price to lay to rest."

We drink. Good tea. Shenyang Province. The man has taste.

"And you?"

"I am an old man. I do not fear my ghosts."

A long pause. Should he trust me? Does he need me?

"The men will come back tomorrow. They will find the door open, and an old man working on a car. They will apologize. I will show them around, brag a bit about my hobby. Show pictures of my grandchildren. They will learn nothing. They will leave."

Hardly the answer I want, but I'm not surprised.

"But will they come back?" I ask.

"Ah. That, Mr. Nightwing, is always the question." Gently, he puts down the cup. "Accept an old mans thanks for keeping thieves out of his shop. Perhaps I will tune up that bike of yours. I am a good mechanic, you know."

He stands. So do I. A dismissal. I accept it for now. I have no choice. But from now on, I'm going to keep a close eye on 'old Mr. Lee'.


	2. Once and Future Hornet

Another shitty day in Bludhaven. Traffic duty. Pissed off Sergeant Geraci. Caught him 'forgetting' to Miranda a purp. Don't know why he wanted the punk to walk. Not yet. I will. This is supposed to be my punishment. Eight hours of red light/green light at Parkthorne and Bowline. Actually, I don't mind. It's a party compared to Bruce's version of endurance training, and it gives me a chance to watch. I've already figured out the new drop signals for our local drug runners. Identified two probable burglars entering the pawnshop with improbable goods. Discouraged a pack of kids who were checking out cars. A good day’s work.

Here's a shock. The repair guys actually showed. The usual late and slow, but in Bludhaven its news if they come at all. Minor circuit short. I could have fixed it in 10 minutes. They'll be here for another hour. Hey, at least it's getting fixed. For now I get to sit on the tailgate and push buttons rather than stand in traffic doing my mime routine. The crew brought soda. Small blessings.

Holy vespa orientalis! Now that's something. The ever so interesting Mr. Lee. Walking this way. I haven't seen him since the ... burglary...at his 'garage'. Haven't heard much from the other side either. Oh, I got my ass chewed for busting Bromley's dick. 'Over-reacting'. But Sarge didn't have his heart in it. Enjoyed seeing the bastard sweat. Really hates what he calls 'those rich mothers'. He'd hate me too, but he thinks Bruce kicked me out cold. Might even sympathize except he also thinks I'm a tight-assed geek. Comes out about even.

"Officer Grayson." Not glancing at my tag. He knows my name.

"Mr. Lee." Two can play.

"I wonder you have not been by." He knows both my names. Now, that's a surprise. It must have showed. "Did I not say you should bring by your motorcycle? There is very much need of adjustment."

Come off it. This guy's English is probably better than mine. What's the message? "How about I bring it by the garage tonight. I go off shift at 6:30, so say seven?"

"Excellent. I will have my tools ready."

Great. That could mean anything. As they say, you suit up and show up. And I've got four more hours to figure out which suit to wear.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

In the end, I wear the blues.

Of course, I've got my tracker on, Oracle has my position, and Hellena is watching the neighborhood. Other than that, I trust him. So Richard Grayson rolled his Harley through the front door.

He was there. As expected. Wearing a flannel shirt and mechanics pants. Also expected. Maybe I was hoping for the Kato suit, but I didn't *expect* it. Then he did the one thing I didn't expect. He got out the timing light and reset the transmission.

It was a privilege to watch. Calling Ikano Kato a good mechanic is like saying Jean-Paul Valley prays a little. But I wasn't here for the show. I didn't delude myself that he was 'grateful' for anything I had done. Accepting, maybe. Pissed, probably. No way he thought I'd done more than repair my own fuck-up. I have a bit of Bruce in me. I wasn't going to apologize, and I sure as hell wasn't going to blink first, so I... watched.

"You should watch your fuel." He was cleaning his hands, so I guess that part was done. "It can be a problem when things are to rich".

More cryptic crap. Me? Claudia Bromley? Bruce? "But sometimes it gives you the power needed." Like either of us are talking bikes.

"That is the problem, is it not? Deciding what power is needed."

"Not if you know what it is you want done."

"True." He must have heard something in my voice, because he glanced up at the picture that wasn't there. "And sometimes, to accomplish your goals, you must rebuild your system. Much work, but necessary." Another pause, and then, "Would you care for some tea?"

Thick mugs this time, but still the good stuff. If he really was a mechanic I'd bring my work here for sure.

"Last time." Lee stares at his mug. "You wondered at this place. Why one with much to hide would risk this...display. It is... a tomb. A shrine. In China we believe one must feed the dead. We must care for them, provide for them, give them in death the things they had in life. The things they valued, that they...loved."

"Then the Green Hornet is dead."

"Britt Reid is dead."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Apparently not for some people. He doesn't answer directly.

"Britt Reid was a great man."

No argument there. Oracle had a pretty full Green Hornet file. It was... impressive.

"Even great men have their weaknesses."

Maybe. Not that you could prove it from what I'd read. Man made Jay Garrick look lazy.

"I was his."

What! That got me. Ikano Kato wasn't my definition of weak. Serious confusion must have shown on my face.

"He was... more than my employer."

Duh. I should hope so. You don't exactly run an ad – ‘help wanted, must risk life’.

"More than... my friend."

Wait a minute. Put brain in gear. "You were lovers."

That got his attention.

"You are not surprised?"

"Mr. Kato… or Lee. I've been in this business since I was nine years old. There are about a dozen reasons why we follow someone in this game, and half of them are being crazy about the guy." Yeah. And the other half is plain being crazy, but that didn't seem like a diplomatic thing to say. Back to the point.

"Fifty years is a long time for Claudia Bromley to hold a grudge just because you slept with her fiancé."

"There was *no* engagement."

Woo. My bad. That's not what the book said but ... why pick a fight. "Fifty years is still a long time. Why would Bromly start looking for you now?"

"Start?" That surprised him. My mistake. "The woman has been hunting me every day since 1949." He takes another drink. "It is, as you say, a long time to hold a grudge. But it is as nothing when you hold on to money." He finished the last sip, then filled his cup again.

"I must tell the story if you are to understand. You know how Britt died?" A question, but not much of one. At least he assumed I wasn't an idiot.

"Mine shaft explosion, in Nevada, officially after art smugglers. Officially mine gas. Rumors that it was actually the trigger to an atomic device."

A deeper nod. So I wasn't an idiot. He seemed overly reassured for my ego. Go on. "Afterwards, Ed Lowry broke the FBI confirmed most of it. So did Claudia Bromley. Back then she was the D.A. Just before she ran for Congress. Threw one hell of a funeral, cast herself as chief mourner, and...oh, shit. That where the bit about fiancé comes in. It was in his will. She inherited everything."

Suddenly, every bad thing fell into place.

"The will was fake."

Now the nod was becoming serious.

"And you know it."

Very serious.

"And you could prove it."

Jackpot! His face had the same non-expression that Bruce got back in my training days when I had really nailed it. "Let me guess. Your name is in the real thing."

Another non-response. "Britt was a good man. He believed in good men. In Frank Scanlon, when he was D.A., and after Frank's death in his good friend Claudia. She was ambitious. Britt knew that but... he trusted her."

And how often has that come back to bite asses? Not that I open my mouth, having my own history of knives between the shoulder blades.

"I have one copy of the real will. She had the other. That night, in the hospital, she came to me. She wanted the other copy. The one she knew I had. She had read it. She knew about us. He was dead, and she was threatening to destroy all that was left. His name. His reputation. I could not allow that. I took the proof and ... I ran."

"Leaving her with the cash, but with a hell of a problem if you ever show up." I thought about that for a while. It made sense, except for two really huge questions. I had to ask.

Question one: "Lowry wrote that the Hornet had retired. That he came back for the one case. Bromley couldn't have known he would. She sure couldn't predict his death. How good of a forgery could a D.A. come up with on short notice? Where would she find a forger she could trust? How could she know it would do her any good?"

"I have wondered... if she had perhaps more foresight than one should. Six months before a certain 'Mickey the Ink’ was released due to foolish errors in prosecution. Made, of course, by a new hire. Before they could recharge he had... an accident. A gas explosion. Sad, but they happened in tenements."

"How good was this Mickey?"

"He was minor, but apparently good enough. As long as there was no suspicion."

And if there was, well the question would go to the D.A. Which, oh yes, Bromley. Nice catch.

Question two: "Why not just call her on it? Forty mill buys a lot of respectable. So she outs you. That sucks. I'd hate it myself. But compared to what you two were up to? Half the country thought that you were hit men or racketeers. Being queer is hardly a felony."

"In 1949 it was. Along with miscegenation and statutory rape."

"What a... Britt Reid was 32 when he died."

"He was nineteen when we met. So handsome that still marvel that...but that is not to the point."

I set down my cup. "The point being that Bromley would have charged. Then win or lose gone for 'undue influence' to overturn the will. Get her cut from whoever's next in line. Nasty. So you become her ghost. Also nasty. But now your talking to me, so something has changed?"

"I talk to you because everything has changed. The world had changed." He paced. He actually *paced*. "Your computer age makes it hard for a man to hide. That first has changed. If she has DNA evidence perhaps still she can find me. Every day that change will favor her. The second is that time has changed. As you say, love is no longer a felony. A jury might even prove sympathetic to a 'widower'. Last, my resources have changed. I have long had wealth. I had not considered that I might find allies."

Then, suddenly, he was still. "I would not act merely to enrich myself, but if there was a chance to avenge his death: that is worth the risk of all the world."

"Will you help me?"

This could get ugly fast. Screw could, will. But the bitch killed one of *us*. She goes down. The only answer is: "You have a plan?"

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

He does. It's good. Tricky, but good. A few minor glitches but nothing I'll point out now. Step one is to head back to Central City and get our hands on the fake will. If it still exists. Because it won't for long once Bromley figures out we're hunting her. I'm working vice tomorrow, so we agree to meet at my place the night after. That should give me time to take care of things. Starting tonight, I have some phone calls to make.

But first? I have to see a man about a car.


	3. Past and Present

Number one on the speed dial. ET phone home.

~"Hi, Alfred. Bruce there? No, no rush. I'm calling from home. Have him give me a call on the other line sometime tonight. I'll be up.”

~“No, nothing just yet. Tell him I got a line on that car I told him about.”

~“Uh huh, the *old* one. I had a talk with the owner. It might be on the market. Current owner has some specific conditions.

~“Exactly. Think I should bring him home for dinner?”

~“No. Invite whoever's in town. Yeh. Thanks Al. Bye."

So I'm paranoid. It's a public line. I know how easy the damn things are to tap. Encrypted e-mail to Babs. She'll call me later, but she can start the search STAT. Swiss banks break easier during working hours. Tim next. I like the way he thinks - sideways. Link to Titan's tower. Look for anything in the database. No luck. Send a message to Garrick and Scott. They were active back then. Ask John Law. Never mentioned the Hornet, but so? Lot's of things we don't talk about. Message to C. Kent. Press gossip and all the news *not* fit to print.

Bruce calls, or rather 'Batman'. There is a difference. He hates the fact I've been made, but it doesn't surprise him. We're talking *Kato* here. He hates the thought of murder, but that doesn't surprise him either. It's the motivation that really burns. Hits too close. Clark or Wally or whoever may think the understand greed, but they don't. They see it and they hear it and they fight it, but that's not the same thing. Bruce has to live with it every day of his life. With every *one* in his life. He actually has a file of ransom notes. Of bomb threat. Of threats period. Mostly just scams, but still...

It's a long conversation. He has the time. The thugs he's watching for must be running late. I don't mind. He helps me think. In the end, he's with me.

Then one more call.

As the man says. I love it when a plan comes together.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

Wednesday night and I'm as nervous as a first date. What is the etiquette for conspiracy?

A knock at the door. I hurry over to answer it. Check the monitors. It's him.

"Good evening, Mr. Lee." I guess that's what I should call him. He's in a suit. Tea is ready. I gesture him to a chair. Better to have him sitting. In about three seconds there could be one hell of a fight.

"Mr. Grayson." He looks at my kevlar. Hardly traveling clothes. "You are not ready to go?"

I smile and hand him a faded envelope. The will.

He says nothing, but the question is in his eyes.

"As you said, new resources. I'm no cat burglar. I called a professional."

This is where I learn if it's going to work. If *we* can work. I respect him. He's a legend. But if I wanted to side-kick I'd already have a gig.

He weighs the envelope in his hand like some ancient artifact. "How long do we have until they discover this missing?"

"Approximately? Forever." I drop to the couch. "She had a good forger. I have a better one."

"Better?" Smart question. After all, at some point we will have to discredit that will. Best for our side if it's not too good.

"Flawless to the eye. Transfer signature. Perfect 40's fake. A good chemist could get it thrown out of court on the spot."

"And the testimony of your 'professional burglar'?"

"Deposed under seal and stored with the JLA." That I was proud of. John Jones was willing to help a fellow cop. Not that trail-of-custody mattered as much for a forgery. We wanted the thing discredited. The trail for his valid copy would matter more. If it mattered. Cash was way down on the list of tactical objectives.

"You have taken a great deal on yourself." No heat, but he's pissed. He hides it better than the Bat, or maybe I just don't read him as well, but hiring help doesn't fit with his one-man crusade. Fine. Never saw the virtue of one-man crusades. I'm a team player.

"I'm a pro. I use every tool that I can get." Make it clear. Screw this up and somebody's going to get killed. "I trust you. I respect you. Where you have the knowledge I'm willing to follow you." Here's the killer question. "Can you say the same to me?"

He's quiet. Good. I hate a quick answer. Usually means they're not thinking. "I have never worked with a 'professional'. Only the FBI agents, who I did not trust. With Bromley, who was not to be trusted." The memory hurt him. "I respect your reputation. I know I can not succeed without you. Therefore I must trust you, whether not that is my wish."

Fair enough. I had to trust him, or let a murderer sit at the height of power. "Let's take a ride. It's time to meet the team."

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OK. I did it on purpose. Black Beauty's a legend, but this was the Batmobile. What else pulls up driverless at 70? It opened for me, then dropped the armor back down over everything but my driver's window. No reason to give away more than absolutely necessary. The road was empty. I kicked in the afterburners just over the city line. Mostly to show off. Trying to impress our 'guest'. Nice thing, being radar invisible. I kept one eye on Mr. Lee. He didn't talk. Too busy checking out the dashboard. A serious case of engineering fever. I made a note. When this was over, I had to introduce him to Earl non-professionally. Earl doesn't get many chances to talk shop.

I opened the shields the minute the blast doors locked. Let him get the full effect of the tube. Caught the mag fields and grabbed the hydraulic lift. Double rotation just for the fun of it. It's the circus in me. Always go for the show.

Batman was waiting. Right by the opened door. No comment on my driving, at least not in front of 'company'. Just offered Mr. Lee a hand, then stepped back. I reset the car and pulled up the access ramp before joining the party in the main cave. Robin was at the console, Oracle in icon on the main screen. The new Batgirl up by the roofline, almost out of sight. Even Azarel, who I'd rather not have seen. No way he'd pass up a chance at homicide, even second hand.

I wasn't kidding myself. Murder one with a name at the other end. Plus apparently three dead Feds that went down with Reid. Premeditation, laying in wait, terrorism, and forty million bucks. That could spell lethal injection in any state. If Bromley went down she was going to go down hard. Which meant the stakes on our side were just as high.

No Huntress, but I could call if I needed her. She just didn't deal well with the Bat. No Cat, but I didn't expect her. She might help out, but she's not about to come in. Alfred somewhere on the monitor, just in case our visitor turn into Amazo or something. What passes for welcome here in our 'Cave, Sweet, Cave'. Impressive, if not exactly warm.

"Kato." That's Bat for welcome. Well, as least I know what to call him.

I watch him watch the cave. He's impressed, not overawed. A good showing, but no more than he expects.

"Batman." That nod again. The meeting of Masters. "I appreciate your hospitality."

"You're after a murderer." That's Bat for 'how can I help you'.

"Miss Claudia Bromley. I believe she killed Britt Reid, and other men. I know she benefited from his death."

"And now?"

"I want her disgraced. I would prefer to see her arrested and tried. Ideally I would wish to see her dead."

That got the Bat. The growl was back full force. "I do *not* kill."

"I do not ask you to. Murder I could do myself, at any time. I had no need to wait these many years." Kato wasn't growling, he was teaching, and that was spookier. "Her mere death would be purposeless."

I figured that was enough philosophy. At least if we wanted to make this work.

"OK people." I smile at Robin "Time to get to work." I'm lucky. Bruce loves me, so sometimes I can take charge. As long as I keep it light. He turns, but he doesn't interfere. "Let's start easy. We've got the Bromley will. It's a certified phony. We've got the Kato copy of the real thing, but provenance will be a bitch to prove. The ideal would be to have someone find the Stanton copy, if she didn't drop it into the fireplace. Any ideas? Robin?"

"The house. She moved into Reid's place. You-know-who can check it out, if he tells her where to look."

"Discreetly. We cannot afford to warn our quarry." The Bat was back in command.

"Like smoke. You know." Robin cast a hopeful look at our visitor. It wasn't often he got to bring in his crew on something major.

"There is a safe in the library. Another, better hidden, is in the bedroom. She will have changed the combinations. A small hollow space is under the seventh stair on the main staircase. Another under the sixth stair in the back. There is also a short passage from the library to the side parlor, and a longer tunnel leaving from the underground garage. Those had electric codes. If not maintained, the batteries will be long dead."

"Not a problem. We don't want it moved." A glance at Robin. He had his job.

"Which leaves the rest of us looking for evidence." Like I said. He lets me push - a little.

"Oracle. The FBI report." Batman takes command.

"Skimpy for a case with three dead Feds. Not to mention America's Least Wanted. Maybe they really did have a nuke down there."

A glance at Kato. Holy hell. Another nod. I was getting damn tired of those things, but I guess it answered the question.

"Who owns the mine?" Not off subject. I love the way that man thinks.

"The claim's listed to Argente Metals, but it's in lapse."

"File."

Score one. By tomorrow morning it would belong to some obscure Wayne subsidiary. Probably would have for the last ten years.

Kato looks interested. "This means you have a plan?"

Of course he did. The Bat *always* has a plan.

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Batgirl and Azeral took off on patrol. Hopefully together. He'll listen to her. They were here mostly for the show. Strength in numbers. The Bat version of putting out the good china. I could do without the Angel, but Batman gave his word. Bruce hired him. He's here as long as he stays this side of deadly force. If I was a mugger, I think I'd stay home tonight.

The rest was slogging. The joy of detective work. The 'drunk driver ' who killed Frank Scanlon was never caught. No evidence. Seems Frank's car rolled and burned. Hard to even identify the body. Just like the fire that took out Michael Incorvaia aka 'Mickey the Ink". That much damage leaves damn little evidence. Nowadays, the coroner might take a look at it, but fifty years ago they were out of luck. Miss Lenore "Casey" Case, Britt Reid’s personal secretary, checked out in another auto accident just six months after his death. Seems she'd started drinking. Been fired. If I had to work for the Bromley bitch I'd drink too. Not much left once her car went off McNider Bridge. A few other rather convenient accidents. Seems Bromley knew a lot of bad drivers.

Oracle hacked us Bromley's 'Kato' files. Nothing much there. Just a lot of it. Too much for any 'missing person'. You had to give her credit for trying. A few other interesting bits. Mostly dirt on other political types. Whoever said knowledge is power had this chick in mind.

Give Kato credit for memory. His was like the Bat's. Permanent. He knew all the subsidiaries, even the quiet ones. He knew her agents, public and otherwise. He had the numbers for the bank accounts, even some of the hidden ones. They poorly hidden ones. The well hidden ones, of course, had vanished with him.

By three we had about all we were going to get. Robin took off for school. He'd finish up from there. We'd hear back when his 'friend' had something. A few possible calls to wait on.

I knock out a rough report. Route it to the Daily Planet using Martian encryption. Just in case. With the two wills in hand Clark Kent could give her a pretty rough time. Not jail her, but end her political career. Metro stuff, not headline. Lois will get the story if things go well. For now - the truth is out there.

Crash time.

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Despite the 'dungeon' image, the bedrooms in the Cave are perfectly comfortable. Not as nice as the house, but comfortable. After all, we spend enough time there. No one goes upstairs when there are 'guests'. I showed Mr. Kato to the best guest room. The one with the most discreet alarm on the door. Like I said, I trust him, but. I set the phones and main computer to signal in Bruce's room before I join him. He is already undressed and half asleep. God, he looks good. I don't get home often enough. I'd love a shower but it will wait. He won't. He moves over for me. I slide into warm arms, and comfort, and joy, and peace.

I'm tired, but as he kisses my back I decide I'm not that tired. I roll over, kissing him back and reveling in the dance of hard muscle and bone that is my bliss. His thick hair is damp from the cowl as I run my fingers through it, seeking to hold it - seeking to hold him as his lips wander away in search of richer spoils.

He will exhaust me tonight. I took control in the cave, so he will pay me back here. My punishment, or my reward? I have never known, I doubt that Bruce could know. It ceases to matter as his lips land on one nipple, nipping and teasing.

I slide my fingers down his back, circling each point of spine and rubbing the sensitive bump where once the vertebrae was broken. Ghod! That brings a shiver harder then the touch of his tongue entering my navel. I could have lost him, and lost him while we were apart. Never again. Whatever our battles, I vow, never again that darkness.

I reach lower, gripping the hard curves of his ass, pulling him closer. Half lust, half remembered loss. I *need* this man. He resists until I curl one finger around the sac of his swollen balls, stroking lightly the flesh I can barely reach. That brings a moan, and his return to higher terrain. I cherish his lips, but I need far more tonight.

We are back, side by side, mixing kisses with nibbles with licks. His hand is on my cock, and mine on his, and we have been apart too long for such teasing. I reach up. No need to look. I know this bed better then my own.

A cold plastic chill against my shaft as I slip the lube into his palm. He knows it's meaning. To tired for gymnastics. I simply roll over into the pillows, giving his lips a path they follow from cheek to ear to nape. Long fingers circle my center. A foretaste of bliss. A flash of pleasure as the first enters, brushing against sensitive flesh. Another finger. Swift and easy. It has not been too long.

One firm hand on my hip to steady me, another callused palm wrapped around my cock to pleasure me. A sharp bite on the neck as he enters me. The long slow drives that lure me back, eager for impalement. I cum too swiftly, control overridden by the double ecstasy of cock and palm. But here too he is with me, spilling within me as our mingled shouts reach the night air. He falls beside me, and we tangle in arms and legs and kisses now soft with repletion.

I really do not get home often enough.

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Morning comes early. I groan as I pull on my jeans and one of Bruce's ratty T-shirts. Alfred stocks mine, but I always end up stealing from Bruce. And his are always rags. Make something of it.

I never did get the shower. I'll dress at the station but it's not the same. My wheels are back in Bludhaven, so I borrow the Vincent Black-Knight and hit the road. It's a good ride, and the cold air clears my head.

It's hard bringing a stranger into the Cave. It's not that I'm jealous. It's just, well... So maybe I am jealous. Not directly. Not like that. But... well... professionally, I guess. Nineteen to thirty-two is thirteen years. I can't seem to work with Bruce for thirteen *days* without getting snappy. That's probably 'cause the Bat is impossible. He bugs Clark. He makes Arthur crazy. Wally just avoids him. But me? I love the guy. I don't want to avoid him. I want to be *with* him. At least, when I'm somewhere else that's what I want. I want to *work* with him. He's a master at our craft. Genius at work. Constant inspiration. Half the time I want to club him harder than the crooks. I love him. He drives me nuts.


	4. The Hornet Takes Flight

I still want that shower.

Started early. Got off late. Double shift and then some. Not a sudden crime wave. Something worse. Something to put the BHPD on double time. Helium tanker jumped the Littleneck Narrows overpass and landed on five lanes of traffic. Thank God it wasn't rush hour. Only the driver dead. Four others in the hospital. Light in terms of casualties. Terrible in terms of traffic. Two freeways down in both directions, surface traffic diverted, and the HasMat team will be lucky if they have the truck moved by morning. Helium freezes like you-know-who, so they can't get a tow truck in until the truck is empty. They can't majorly vent the truck without freezing concrete and trashing the overpass. They can't freeze the overpass for fear it will crack and land on the buildings below. You get the idea.

That's two days this week spent playing speed bump. Just my luck. Fortunately this puts me *way* over hours, so Commander Michaelmas was reasonable when I asked for a few days off. The official reason was a private assignment for WayneTech. Not uncommon for BHPD officers to hire out as bodyguards or private muscle. That's one of the more honest grifts. Michaelmas figures I'm scamming Bruce. Arnot figures Bruce is screwing me. Either way, it's his money and not theirs. By Bludhaven standards that makes me honest.

I grab the Black-Knight and head for the cave.

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There's a new car on the floor. Next to the Batmobile and it still looks pretty sharp. The real things last. I figure this means Batman and Kato worked things out.

I take the back corridor since I'm in civvies and there's an *outsider* in the cave. Not that I have any secrets left, but...Bruce's house, Bruce's rules. Not a problem.

I make it to the bathroom officially unnoticed. Bats knows I'm here. Obviously. But he doesn't call. Normally I'd hope for company in the shower. Today I'm just want hot water and soap before I suit up. Kevlar is rough on the Right Guard.

My gears laid out, so Alfred's been down. Good sign. I suit up and join Batman and Kato in the main cavern. The Bat is still in full kit, so they're not best buds, but at least he's not wearing the cowl. He looks up as I come in, but he doesn't leave the monitor. Alfred's set out sandwiches and coffee. I grab two on the way to my station. No lunch today, either. To risky for catering trucks. Batgirl hands me a cup of coffee before turning back to her own display.

"What's the plan?"

"You can travel?" I'll consider it a question. Bruce dislikes my 'day job'. He has his reasons, some of them reasonable. Officially, he thinks it hinders Nightwing.

"Indefinite. Cleared with Arnot. I'll send Wayne Enterprises the bill."

"Good. Tomorrow Bruce Wayne inspects the Silver Ghost Mine."

"Hold up." I'm all for playing this civilian, but, "Didn't Oracle say something about a nuke? If radiation kept out the FBI...?"

Kato answers. "The atomic bomb did not explode. Merely the trigger. The Hornet had detached it from the core."

"But plutonium..."

"May have contaminated the damaged level," Batman spoke. "It is now clear."

Fifty years doesn't faze plutonium. Its half life is in the thousands. Bruce knew that, so... "Firestorm?"

"Playoff tickets...if the Knight's make it"

"Not a chance." Not for the Knights, anyway. Knowing Bruce, Ronald will get tickets whoever plays.

"The basic tunnel structure surveys as intact. Argante is jumping at the chance W.I. will reopen the pit."

That said nothing for their brains, and even less for their ethics. Pawning off a useless, radiation poisoned mine. Of course, it wasn't, but they couldn't know that. Just grabbing for bucks. Thinking they could con the Gotham playboy. Not Bruce. He'd make another fortune. Serves them right.

"We leave in the morning. There's a small local airfield authorized for daylight operations. The mine engineer will meet us there."

'Us' being? I didn't ask. Batman would tell me. After a pause, Bruce adds, "Our overseas investor will accompany us. Mr. Ikano Kato."

First shot fired across the Bromley bow.

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Rode the bike back to the 'Haven. Nice trip. Good weather, light traffic. Got in early enough to talk to Clancy. Told her I'd be out of town for a while. She'll keep an eye on my place and collect the mail. Clancy likes Bruce, so she's always happy when I'm working for Waynetech. So much safer than police work.

Call Huntress and review a few local problems. She'll cover the city while I'm gone. E-mail Titans Tower and take myself off the active roster. Pack my suitcase, and my *other* suitcase. I keep duplicates at the cave, but it's my equipment and my job.

Call the Gotham Municipal Airport Security Office, then fax them, then call again. Copies of my police ID and concealed carry permit. One to airport security, one to the Feds. Another set to the authorities in Copper Flats. A hassle, but it's got to be done. Otherwise you *don't* wear a pistol into an airport.

That's one of Bruce's real problems with my job. He hates guns. Totally. I'm a cop. I carry. Constantly. God help us if I ever have to fire it.

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Left the Black-Knight in the garage. Took my car. More room for luggage. Besides, it may look like crap but it's crap with cop tags. Security waves me past. Thanks. Don't want *these* bags inspected. I steer around a few trucks and pull in by the hanger. Best thing about a private jet. No 'long term parking' hassle. Earl's there, of course. I drop my bags with him.

Nevada by eleven means leaving Gotham before eight. Early for me, late for Bruce. The only time I like to see sunrise is when I'm still working on the night before. He's one of those early rising, well-disciplined types. Makes me nuts. I set the alarm early so I could make the airport by 7:15 and clear weapons check before Bruce arrives.

No luck. By the time I walk out of the office, Bruce and company are waiting in the lobby. I'm surprised to see Cassandra. She's a bit new for fieldwork, even if she can fight, and this looks to be more tactical than our usual street rumbles. More surprised when Bruce hands her over to a uniformed stewardess. Delta? Why the hell was she flying civilian? Bruce *had* more than one jet. If he's playing another game on the side...

The usual chit-chat in the hanger. Bruce charming the ground crew. I wait until we are on board before I give him the look. Bruce just smiles, but Kato answers. "Miss Cain is going to visit with my grandchildren."

Which answers nada.

Bruce fills in the details. “I doubt Claudia Bromley will have time to consider hostages, but it is not outside her style."

"My son is well taught, but he can not watch everywhere at once. Too much readiness might tip our hand." Kato smile at our young Batgirl. "Cassandra will attend school with the eldest girl, Mishi, and otherwise babysit the younger two."

I had to agree. It was perfect. One more Eurasian kid would pass unremarked on Molokai. We could have asked Kon, but he's the noticeable type. Also he gets distracted by tidal waves and alien invasions and that sort of thing. Cassandra stayed on target like the Bat. After recent events, well, she was back in form but low on confidence. The trust would do her good. Find another topic.

"I wondered...if you don't mind my asking... if you and Britt were ...well... together…"

"How did I have a son?" He hesitates. Not like someone editing a story. More like remembering.

I prompt, "The files don't exactly mention a mother. Just Hayashi B. Lee, born 1952 in Tibet."

None of my business, but I'm curious. Another of life's little quandaries. Bruce, well, he has his sons. In a way. But we aren't *his* sons. At least, I sure as hell never was. I think Alfred wanted me to be, but we were too close in age, and also? People used to accuse gypsies of stealing children. Romany tell it the other way around. The accuse the Gaje of stealing kids. I guess I felt it would be... disloyal. A lie. Like I was ashamed of who I was.

Tim. Maybe Tim is some sort of son to Bruce. He's a brother to me. I really love that kid. But Tim has a father. A lousy one, but he's trying. And now a mother. OK, a stepmother, but she's a nice lady and she cares for Tim. He doesn't need us for family. Sanity, maybe, but not family.

Jason. That sucks. Jason *was* Bruce's son. Adopted 3/15/94. That's what the law says. That's what it says on his tombstone. 'Jason Peter Todd Wayne, Beloved Son' . Died 7/21/95. Like losing an infant, but worse because you really knew them. Really loved them. But he's dead and worse he's almost forgotten. Like some mistake Bruce made that everyone is too polite to mention.

For me? I like kids. But I'm not sure I'd let mine *near* the Bat.

Kato sips his coffee, leaning back in his chair.

"That is a story. Britt was fond of children. I was not, as I recall. Perhaps because in my childhood they were so very common, and seldom of value. I did not think on it. In the 40's a single man was not thought of as an adoptive father, even if he was not known to be 'gay'. Britt and I were not a 'family'. Perhaps I should have desired a son. They have value in Asian culture. But I never particularly admired my own parents, so the end of our lineage did not distress me. Certainly that is not what I sought in Tibet."

"My life was gone. Ikano Kato was gone. Lee was... not yet. I had traveled to Butran, then Sham'bala, and finally following rumors sought the Temple of the Clouds. It is said that there men may see their true face, and know the hearts of men. It is said it holds a power there to rebalance the world. I do not know if I was going after peace, or after power. Perhaps it would be the same. I made it only so far as the Shu-lin Road. Lost in my own pain, I did not hear the bandits until I was upon them. Otherwise, I am ashamed to say, I would likely have ignored their evil. I had seen much pain in my travel, but without Britt it meant nothing. This time, they saw me first. I was forced to fight."

He closes his eyes, seeing the past. "In the end, they were dead, but I had come too late for the poor travelers they had murdered. Senseless evil. They had so little to steal, but those were harsh times. One child lived. Even with my heart dead, I could not just abandon it in the snow. I turned back, thinking to leave it with the monks in Lassa. But, when I reached the gate I could not. So? I took a plane to Tokyo, got my son's passport from the American Embassy, and returned to Molokai. I became a grocer. A widower with a young son. The rest you know."

He pauses, staring into the coffee. "That is my one worry. Hay knows nothing about this. At least? He knows about the Hornet. To teach him, to warn him, I had to tell him some things. But ...I have never told him that he is...adopted."

No prob. One more non-fact for Lois Lane to write around. That's why she gets the bucks. A look from Bruce. Change the topic again. Back to business.

"So, Bruce. What exactly are we looking for in Copper Flats?"


	5. Distant Humming

By the time we reach Copper Flats I know more than I ever cared to about mining silver. And about mine claim law. And mine management. And about early Cold War politics. We also covered mine construction and explosives, but that bit was interesting. Go up to sit second seat while Bruce lands the plane. Just a formality. He hates my driving.

There is no hanger space. Proof that we are ten miles from nowhere. Bruce follows what passes for tower instructions, taxi-ing over to park on one side of the field. A tight fit. Our small Lear jet is still twice the size of anything on the field. Mostly civil air and a few crop dusters. The only thing bigger is a fire plane with forestry service markings. It has the lone hanger. We end up parked out on the tarmac in sight of everyone and his brother. The only good point is that we are also within sight of the only hotel in town. Long two-story stucco box. Asphalt lot and a pit of Clorox in concrete passing for a pool. The Flyon -Inn. Hardly the Hilton, but it keeps us near our plane and our gear. I'd rather sleep in a hanger.

Whole town is 'in sight'. Four buildings. Five, if you count the 'tower', which is a two-story prefab with a windsock on top. Hotel, gas station with parts shop, general store advertising 'cold beer', and a post office- none of which look to be doing any business. A few houses farther out I saw from the air.

We, at least, are doing business. The plane is still rolling when a jeep pulls alongside.

Nice paint job, current model. Carrying our Mining Engineer. Twenty-something in starched jeans. I recognize him from his picture. He jumps out and meets us at the bottom of the ramp.

"Hi. I'm Charlie Orsdale. Van-Orsdale Metals and Mines." He shakes my hand. He is practically shaking his tail, he's so eager to make a good impression.

"Dick Grayson." A pause. I'm not on his list of people to impress, but he doesn't want to blow me off either. Not until he knows for sure that he can. "Mr. Ikano Kato, and my boss, Bruce Wayne." No clues. Let him take his chances.

"Mr. Wayne. Such a pleasure. Everyone’s delighted that you're taking an interest in the Silver Ghost. Really, there's so much potential in this area. Silver is headed up, and with new techniques, I want you to know that..."

I tune him out. Bruce let’s him run, but doesn't bother to listen. He's heard the speech before. If Charlie says anything of interest, Bruce can remember it later. I focus on the terrain, which is flat red dirt and dead brown scrub. Seriously hot. And on the driver. Seriously blonde. She exits the jeep slowly, and with a good deal of style. Her wide green eyes come with laser targeting. Ignoring me with the same ease that she ignores her business partner, she focuses on Bruce.

"Mr. Kato. Mr. Wayne." She brings out a smile that ought to be registered. "I'm Elizabeth Van. Call me Liz."

A 'girlie' handshake. One that passes, but leaves you feeling you really should have kissed it. But subtle. She is good.

"It's wonderful what you're doing for this community."

Not that he's done anything yet. Who cares, it sounds good.

"If there's anything I can do; show you around, introduce people, I'd be delighted. I'm a Nevada girl, you know. My folks have a ranch up north."

Anything social where she can show him off like a charm bracelet.

I'm not jealous. Just nauseated. I used to wonder how Bruce could tolerate it, until I realized that he literally does not notice. He's not oblivious, exactly. He's too well trained as an observer to miss anything. It's more that sycophancy is like gravity. Always there. You know it exists, but you don't notice it.

She's doing a great job. Keeping Bruce Wayne in the center of her charm, including Mr. Kato, not cutting out her own partner completely... hard work totally wasted. Bruce is a great guy to work for - or a merciless bastard. It all depends on you. The competent and loyal are cherished. The others aren't around long enough to complain. Not that he doesn't have some real friends, even outside the cave. It's just that competent and loyal comes first. Always.

While they natter on, trying to impress the boss, another vehicle drives in. Cadillac pickup truck. Heavy engine sound. As new as the jeep, but with a lot more road. Gun rack but no rifle. Grey Mountain blankets over the seats. Bruce doesn't turn. Doesn't have to. I have point. I hear Kato sniff. Car snob. OK, so Mercedes builds better heavy trucks. Maybe the owner was into buying American. Truck pulls up on the far side of the jeep. Wind burned man in Levi's and Pendelton gets out. Lace up work boots. Not a cowboy. Real pawn conch belt. Black hair under the grey. Deep tan. Hard to date him. A true local, with as much road wear as his truck. Probably as tough an engine too.

"Hey." Pronounced with the a on the end. Definitely local. His gesture manages to include everyone. Impressive. "Eddie Begay. Pleased ta meet ya." I knew that name, as he expected we would. Manager for the Silver Trail, the closest Argente mine still in operation. Someone for Bruce to meet, but not someone who has to come meet Bruce. Either he's just a plain nice guy, or he really wants to hand off the Silver Ghost. Could be both. Handshakes all around. Firm. "Let's get this show inside and out of the sun. Luggage?"

What I bring down, he grabs and throws in the bed of his truck. Hardly necessary. We're standing within a hundred yards of the front door. But smart. I like his style.

The rest of us walk while he drives, backing his tailgate to the front door with cheerful disregard for the concept of lawn or road. Not that much of either is evident. Then he leaves it there. No one in the hotel seems to object. Obviously not many more guests expected.

He pushes until everyone's settled in the hotel bar. Dark and a bit shabby. Pool table and beer clocks. Tough looking fifty-something guy wiping glasses. Decent operation. Looks like it sees more business than the hotel. Seems to replace the lobby, since except for the bartender the whole floor is empty. Begay orders beers all around, then leans down the hall and shouts for the manager. Different, but it works. Another local by the accent, she bustles in to hand out beers and keys while happily running Bruce's platinum card. I head up to the bartender and ask for a Zesti. Not a problem. He recognizes that I'm working. We talk. Turns out he's married to the manager. They run it for her folks. I was right about the scarcity of other guests. Apparently, we are it - except for the forestry service folks currently out in the field. Gives us our choice of rooms. I put the engineering pair down by the so-called pool, and then pick the far end for Bruce, Mr. Kato, and myself. For the 'quiet'. Like a hundred feet will make a difference in this wasteland. Still, it is the end nearest our plane.

While they settle in I place a call to the local sheriff. He knows my name, which means either that he read his faxes or that we were hot local gossip. Likely both, but my bet's on the gossip. Local law's never thrilled about an outsider in the jurisdiction, but he's being polite about it. Silver means jobs. If Wayne Enterprises brings those, then its citified owner can bring a flashy bodyguard and no grief given. Nevada is an open carry state, with automatic concealed permit for peace officers, but the sheriff could have made me sign in. He spared me a drive over to Perdition, so I have no complaints.

Our three locals look like they might settle into the bar at least through lunch, but Bruce has a way of getting action. As soon as the luggage hits the rooms Van and Orsdale are loaded back into their jeep along with a box lunch, and we are off to the Silver Ghost. Seats are tight, so I volunteer to ride with Eddie Begay. Good choice. He has some great stories of the silver rush days. All bull, I'm sure, but still great. Turns out to be older than he looks. He remembers the death of the Hornet. Tells me all about it. I don't even have to ask. Guess not much else has happened lately, cause that is the great local legend. His version gives the perps as moonshiners, with no mention of Elliot Ness or atomic bombs. No mention of Kato either. Just lots of local heroes, with the old sheriff's posse and a big shootout. Forget the facts. Storytelling is an art. His keeps me interested until we reach the mine gates.

There is the usual shuffling around you get with civilians. The mine engineers had clearly been out the day before. The lift is working, and appropriate lights and hard hats have been left just inside. Begay takes the lead, herding Bruce's pricey consultants before him like sheep. Reasonable analogy. Cheerful Charlie is till trying to impress the money men with insights he doesn't have, while blondie is posing for the Miner's Gazette Swimsuit Edition. Must have been a fun ride. Bruce acts patient, but he's not. Figure these two for short careers. *Miss* Van seems glued to Bruce, so Begay and Kato go first, leaving me to bring Charlie along in the rear. Good plan. Follow someone who knows what they're doing.

For an abandoned mine I'd guess it to be in fine shape. Shoring looks steady. Equipment well oiled. Ventilation working quietly. My respect for Begay goes up another notch. His prep crew had done their job. A constant odor of guano tints the air, but that I'm used to. We keep the Batcave clean. Filtered air and water, sonic varmint controls, but once you leave the work area... it's a cave. Caves have bats. Bats shit. You learn to ignore it.

The usual tour. A decent sales pitch, mostly because Begay *can* spin a yarn. I half listen, paying more attention to planting bat-bugs and sonic markers without being noticed. Checking spots with my micro Geiger counter. It helps that Orsdale basically ignores me, having figured me for hired muscle. Works for me. 'Miss Nevada' is 'active listening' on Bruce. She wouldn't hear the Batcopter if it landed on her. Poor Bruce. Sometimes he suggests he should just 'come out' and hope it puts an end to the bimbo brigade. But he knows it wouldn't. It would double it.

Begay gives a first class tour. Upbeat but honest. At least, if he lies outright I don't catch it. Keeps us to the upper levels, but shows enough of the actual operation to keep it from being a total dog and pony show. Gets Orsdale making optimistic noises, at any rate. With what Bruce could pay, I figured Orsdale would gladly mine snow in Sudan, but maybe reopening this place really is a good idea. Nice thing for the locals if it is. I'll ask Bruce when we get back to the hotel.

We head back to the surface for lunch. Turkey sandwiches and potato salad, washed down with Zesti. Not exactly the Pennyworth diet. Bruce will be on tofu for a week when he gets home. I take mine and scout the terrain while Bruce and Kato sit and look interested. Low ground. Makes sense. It's a mine. For us? I call it a draw. Hard to defend, but good for concealment. Lights show farther than you think in a desert night. Here? With the doors closed it should be safe to work with the shaft lights on. I stroll down the old road a bit, checking out a few ruined shacks. No threat, possible hiding place.

After lunch Begay hikes everyone around the place, pointing out the secondary shafts locally and some supposedly interesting geology in the distance. I'll take his word for it. I think the real purpose is to wear out the city folk and get us back to the bar for drinks before dinner. Out of mercy I let Kato ride back with Begay. Bruce needs it more, but it would take a crowbar to pry off 'Betsy Boobs'.

The ride back is grim. I view it as endurance training. With Begay out of earshot, Charlie and Liz are desperate to figure out which way Bruce is thinking on the mine deal. Desmond could have hired them for interrogators. Bruce smiles and makes positive noises, which makes Cheerful Charlie practically giddy. Mental note. I don't care what Bruce does with the mine, but Van and Orsdale are O*U*T of the deal. I saw where her hand went.

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I pass up a wet dinner for a wet shower. The manager brings her husband's Blue Plate Special up to the room so I can eat while I work. Chicken fried steak with home fries and biscuits. Extra white gravy. Ritz apple pie. Cholesterol heaven. I figured I can work it off. Will, if Bruce has anything to say about it. And he will. I also get to hear all about *his* dinner order. Broiled chicken and rice. No desert. *NO* booze. Her husband disapproves - loudly. "Man cain't stay healthy if he don't eat." I *must* remember to quote that to Bruce.

Touch base with Babs. Cassandra called her from Hawaii. She made it over OK and is settling in. Nothing much in Gotham, thank God. Azeral is behaving. Huntress is watching some probable gun-runners in Bludhaven, but thinks it can wait. Tim has called in. Said his friend is checking out the Bromley place. Nothing more yet. Maybe by morning.

I take off my shoes and sack out for an hour. In this biz you sleep when you can. I wake when I hear Bruce outside the door.

"Any news?"

"Nothing major," I answer. "Tim's secret agent is still out." I watch him undress, fatigue showing in his careful movements. Dead tired, and he still hangs his clothes up - perfectly. Thank God Alfred only got me when I was nine. Old enough to resist indoctrination. "Lay down and I'll rub your back."

He does.

He needs it. I may have flaked out on some of my college classes, but I paid attention in Physical Therapy. Close attention. Get in the vigilante business and, unless you're Superman, you're going to spend time in rehab. I grab the lanolin and start on his shoulders. Bruce won't touch the stuff because it softens calluses. Doesn't worry me. I'm not as skilled at Karate as he is. Too much strength involved. I depend more on the judo styles. And my sticks. He needs it, though, for the skin flexibility. He's a big man for a gymnast, with more then twenty years of strength training. High muscle density. Heavy bones. He can't risk stiffening up. Well, I smile to myself, not his back at any rate.

"What time do we go out?"

"Two. Bar closes at one."

OK. An hour for the drunks to pass out and the good people to go to sleep. Sunrise at 6:15. That gives us three hours of heavy dark. Tight but doable.

"Kato?"

"Holding up." Bruce knows it must have been rough on him, coming back to the site of Brit's ... assassination. Walking those tunnels. Even if we hadn't gone down to the destroyed level. The ghost had his own ghosts, and they walked here. "He'll be ready."

"Tell him to sleep. I'll wake him at 1:30."

It was rough on us too. I roll Bruce into my arms. Not much time, but enough. I rumple his trousers, but it doesn't matter. He has better things on his mind. And on his cock. Like my lips. I am always amazed by the miracle of that velvet flesh filling and lengthening. So much so that it distracts me until the rough tug of denim brings me back. Bruce, rotated and paralleled so his cheek reaches my thigh. Buttons are harder then zippers, denim stiffer them wool. I raise my hips, letting him push fabric away from the goal of his desire. I am hard already, and the first damp stroke of his tongue across the head brings out a groan.

Bad thing. The walls in this place are thin.

I stifle my cries with the nearest thing at hand. His cock. Taking it deep into my throat, I let the sensitive flesh absorb the vibrations wrought by its owner’s mouth. A mouth which responds with more and stronger licks. Which brings out more moans and whimpers to tease his eager rod. Precious feedback, and all too relished, because within seconds we are both spurting, to frantic with pleasure and haste to be subtle.

A moment to breathe, then I kick my jeans off my ankles to land at the foot of the bed. I pull off Bruce’s shirt and trousers, shaking them lightly before folding them one-handed over a chair back. Alfred would be appalled at leaving a mess, but I urge my tired lover up to the pillows, and into my arms.

"You sleep, Bruce. I'll stay here."


	6. Black on Green

Alarm went off at 1:15. Silent, in ear job. Very effective. Earl came up with them, and they don't have a snooze button. I tried to move carefully, to let Bruce get in another ten minutes or so. No luck. One twitch and he is eyes open and moving. I never wake that well, but two minutes of isometrics have me at least functional. I pull on sweats. We'll dress in the plane. By 1:25 I'm downloading the modified ATV's. Slow work. Without a hanger I have to work in blackout. 1:35 - Bruce arrives with Kato. Guess he wakes up like Bruce. I help Kato into his Kevlar while Bruce checks the locational transponders planted yesterday, then put on my own. Unmarked suits. Balaclava instead of the usual mask. Nightwing would *not* be seen in the neighborhood. This was a Hornet gig. Sweats over the top to reduce recognition and cut down on chill. Transponders are good. Bruce suits up. 1:50 - the Batman joins Kato and Nightwing on the dirt. Too close to the hotel to risk sound, even with the near-mute engines. We walk the vehicles across the tarmac. No other movement. Good. Batman signals. We mount and follow our beacons across the desert.

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Good night for travel. Three-quarter moon. Increases the risk of being seen, but out here there's no one to see us except for a few lizards, and they won't go to the press. We reach the mine without incident. Batman has a copy of Begay's key. No delay with the locks. We pull the ATV's inside. Relock the doors. Tape the frame. Now we can work with lights.

Kato needs no prompting. "Nine levels down. We took that shaft."

I walk over, checking it again with the Geiger counter. Everything had shown clean earlier, but paranoia comes with the training. Zero. Not even the normal mine count. Give Firestorm credit for a through job. I slap counters on all three of us just in case.

Kato points to a dark drop at the other end from the working lift. Another shaft. "It should be safe. This structure was far from the blast. The cage likely will not work..."

"No maintenance." I look down the shaft. No way I would even try. I'd trust my de-cell line. Even spikes. But fifty year old chains?

Following the Bat, I pull off my sweats and attach drop lines to the harness in my suit. We will belay Kato between us.

"Sabotage," Kato reaches for his kit. "They had damaged the cage lift to delay Mr. Ness."

I hooked Kato’s lines as Batman started into the pit. "Belay on."

It was a long drop, but clean and slightly angled. Easy. Kato was more agile then I had expected. No trouble. The old cage blocked the bottom of the shaft, but the roof hatch was open. Easy access. Whoever last came out hadn't worried about anyone else going back. No lights here, but our helmet lamps sufficed.

"That way." Kato points to one of the branching tunnels. "It was passable at least to the control room. The men in there came out. After that? I do not know." A shadow passes over his face. "I was not there. He told me to stay. To fix the lift for the police who could not climb. I was here when..." His voice was even, but the pain was in it. Fifty years, and still fresh.

Batman moves cautiously into the tunnel. We follow in silence. Bits of rubble lay underfoot in spots, but nothing to slow our travel. After a few twists, we emerge into another large chamber scattered with rusted machines. Here the damage can be seen. Miniature train tracks cross the floor at seeming random, scorched ties showing here and there the effects of fire. Wheeled boxes lay on their side, scattered like discarded toys. Ropes and chains, damaged by heat, hang down from the darkness above our heads.

"The control room?"

Kato points to a strange structure, framed like a small three-walled building, that now leaned heavily against the hewn stone back wall. Puckered paint testified to the former heat, but the wood itself had passed through intact. Heated air from a blast, perhaps, but not much force.

Batman moves across the chamber, observing the marks remaining in the decades old dirt.

"We had been staying there, waiting for the smugglers. Their goods were here, machine guns and artillery stolen from Fort Eaglesham. Britt knew they must come for them. We could not know the *other* weapon they would bring. That night they arrived. It was just after sunset when they came down the shaft. They were laughing, excited by their ‘big score’." Kato gestures behind us, the way we had come in. "There were many of them. Five cars. They shot the control box, thinking none could come after them, but we were already here."

Careful to touch nothing, I glance inside the fragile structure. A metal cot, the rag of a blanked folded at the foot. File cabinets. A small table with one chair. Another chair near a workbench holding antique equipment. The radio. Possibly a seismograph. Short-line hand-crank telephone. Crude conditions, but not uncomfortable.

"The Hornet notified Mr. Ness. His men came, but they were... slow. Too slow. Only three of them had the courage to come down the shaft by the ladder."

"We knew they had another exit. One we had not found. One they might escape through, taking their death-tools to use on the innocent. The risk was too great. The Hornet told me to fix the lift. To bring down the G-men. He left one agent here with the radio. With two men, he followed them."

Kato moves over to the most damaged of the radiating tunnels. The one Batman had also focused on. I follow him, shining my lamp into the shattered darkness.

"The Green Hornet caught up with them deep inside the mine, learned the terrible thing they had stolen, and overheard their evil plans. He carried a very powerful pocket radio, one that could pass through this stone."

No doubt Kato's invention, although he takes no credit now. Simply continues the explanation.

"The G-men were on the radio with...Green Hornet... when they heard the explosion. That is how they knew."

"The gangsters, those who escaped the blast, fled out the hidden door. The sheriff's men were waiting for them." He turns slowly, sharp eyes searching the darkness, coming to focus deep within the damaged tunnel.

"One man died in the blast. One FBI man, West, made it almost this far. Carrying the Hornet. The radio man, man, Gordon, he went in for them. He took a cart. Went down the shaft. He found them but... my wasp was dead. He tried to bring them back, but the track failed. Gordon carried West to the lift. He had to leave Britt there. Then there was... the fire. Later they went back for the body, but not that night. I heard, on the radio, the order to evacuate. Up the shaft. Gordon helped West climb the rope ladder. I stayed with them until they were out and then..."

Almost this far? How near? Were we seeing the spot where Britt Reid had died?

"I should have been there. I should have saved him."

Nothing to say. I lay my had on his shoulder in comfort.

"Actually, it would make no difference where you were." A dark voice from the darkness.

I am shocked. Even Batman is not usually that cold. Granted, the odds were heavy, but Kato was extremely skilled.

"The minute he touched the trigger he was a dead man. As were they."

Holy...how heavy were those old atomic bombs? Too much to carry. Too big to put in a car. And if they stole *just* the trigger...with pellet plutonium. I felt sick. My eyes went without thinking to my counter. Still clear. I had to ask. "Did anyone make it? Any of the men who were down here? The one on the radio, or the one who went into the shaft?"

Kato considers that. "They reached their friends on the surface. They were burned, but walking. I am certain they recovered."

The Bat's voice is a knife. "You are certain? You saw them afterwards? How many hours later?"

"It was just before sunrise when I... left. I saw them then." Kato gives us both a puzzled look. "Why would it matter?"

"They were treated for their burns?" The dark voice grows even more insistent. "They were cared for with the others? In the same place as the men who were shot?"

"Yes?"

"And you know they could hear the Hornet's radio? Clearly? Until the end?"

"Everyone heard the blast. Myself, the agent below, Nash on the surface. I carried the other hand radio. I heard them all."

"Afterwards? You still heard them?"

"Yes. Ahh." A twisted comprehension began to cross Kato's face.

"Nightwing, set the spelunking gear. I have to go down."

"I'm smaller." For all the good it will do. Correct procedure would be for the heavier man to hold the ropes.

"The tunnel was clear for two men to get out." That means he knows I'm right, and we're *still* going to do it his way.

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Ten minutes with no call.

I can still pick up his transponder. Good sign. If the walls were weak he'd turn it off to lower the risk. Occasional tensions as I play out the ropes. Kato and I don't talk. He's too lost in the memories of this place, and I wouldn't know what to say. Sorry he's dead? Sorry your life went down the crapper and nobody cared? That's the breaks? Sometimes I think that's why the Justice Society, and the Justice League and all those Justice whatevers joined up in the first place. To attend each other’s funerals.

*beep*

/"Nightwing. I've reached the storage area. Definite center of the blast. Major damage, but the support appears stable. Several remains with trauma signs. I'm going in."/

The ropes go limp. Damn. No transponder either. Appears stable my ass.

Kato hears the beep. He looks at me.

"Batman says he's reached the explosion site. He's going to investigate. He’ll call back."

Why do I talk to him like a civilian? He hears everything I don't say, and this time it's his hand on my shoulder. He's a good man. He wants closure for his friend, but not at the cost of mine.

"What was he like?" I'm not just asking to make conversation. I want to know. There are so few of us in this business, and so many secrets.

"A good man. A brave man." He pauses. What is there to say? "But you know that."

"Yeh." I do know that. I have known so many good men. "I just wondered... why the Hornet? Why him? Why you?"

"I could ask the same. Why you? Why him?"

"Vengeance, I guess. For my parent’s murder." I think for a moment. "At least at first. I was nine. Kids can be ... dramatic." And after Zucco? "And after? It was what I knew." More truth there than I like. “I’d lost everyone else.”

"It is all loss. My Britt. I can not say what he lost. He was - as he was - before I knew him. That is the how and why of our meeting." He looked at me but saw another. "He came because...I had certain skills. He was already training, already given to his cause, but...he never told me why."

And that hurt. Still hurt. After all the years.

"As for me? Britt *was* my cause. All my purpose. All my loss."

He falls silent. We sit together, but say nothing. There is no answer to death.

Two minutes in when the shake hits. Nothing major. Just one of those minor jolts the locals ignore. Just enough to put my heart in my throat. 'Locals' don't have someone crawling down an unshored tunnel. I check my time. Ten minutes going in. Less two. If I don't get transponder in eight I'm going after him.

*beep* Less than thirty seconds. He knows how I think.

/"I have something. I'm coming back."/

The ropes re-tension, and I wheel them in as he moves back up the tunnel. Faster now. Very fast. I signal Kato to pick up the gear. When Batman gets here, we are getting out.

Under five minutes, and he springs up from the tunnel mouth. Dusty but undamaged. He has something under one arm wrapped in a black mylar sheet. He drops the harness. "Leave the gear. Let's go."

Good idea. I've had enough of this pit. But it gives me an idea just how shaky that run was. Normally the Batman is insistent about cleaning up. I don't suppose it matters. We own this place. No one else will come here. But? If he's willing to exchange privacy for time, we're on a race.

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The trip back is the same as the trip out. Just in reverse. On the public levels Batman is back to his usual caution. We remove the signs of our visit before following our own trail back to the plane.

I still don't know what he found. What he brought back. I think on it a little, but can't reach any clear conclusions by the time I have the equipment re-secured and make my way to the front of the plane.

Bruce is still in Kevlar, but he's Bruce again. No mask, no gloves. Standing by a battered hunk of metal with a serious smile on his face. Very few things make Bruce *really* smile.

"This, Mr. Grayson, is an atomic trigger." My total horror must reach my face, because his smile slips a bit. "Safe now. The explosive burned out, and Firestorm neutralized the plutonium." He waves the Geiger counter. Near flat.

"Then the explosion?"

"Standard TNT." He glances towards Kato. "I suspected as much when the radio continued to operate."

"Even a 'fizzle' reaction," Kato interjects, "such as must occur should an intact trigger fire and 'miss', would tend to release some gamma radiation. Enough to disrupt radio communications at short range."

Batman nods. "Removing the pellet would prevent fission, but the exposed plutonium would 'poison' the blast. One could expect those directly exposed to show signs of radiation exposure. As would everyone near the pellet when it was unshielded."

I know enough about warheads for that thought to twist my stomach. Radiation is an ugly death.

"I didn't have much time for details, but the explosion was not caused by ordinance.” Bruce points to an intact tangle of wire. “It was a pipe bomb that had been planted off to one side. With what looked like a radio trigger. A very deliberate and intentional bomb."

"We now have motive, opportunity, and - murder."


	7. Hornet in Flight

Motive, opportunity, and murder. Works for me. Would it work for a DA looking at now nearly a bill? Bromley may have been a blackmailer and a murderess, but she was good with the market. Not enough - maybe.

"Are we go?" I ask the man with all the answers. He is seated at the planes satellite link, playing the keyboard like a honkytonk piano. Weather scan, UP, ahh! Oracle. A glimpse of the icon before her 'face' fills the screen.

The mechanical voice comes through clearly. "Update, Batman. Robin's agent has completed target search, with high probability acquisition of query."

"Get real, Babe." Sorry, but I hate that voice. "Nobody here but us chickens." That gets me a look from Bruce, but he doesn't override me.

"OK, Munchkin." Ouch! Miss Gordon is pissed. But it's better then robo-chick. "Seems Casper the friendly ghost got lucky tonight. Ask your buzzing friend if he remembers a hidden closet in the garage tunnel?"

A double glance at Kato, who shakes his head. "No. No, we built no closet in the tunnel. Perhaps something from before? It was part of the 'underground railroad'. But...no. I knew of none."

"Well, there's one there now, stuffed with fifty years worth of 'spiders and dust and yucch', to quote you-know-who. All behind a rust frozen lock. Which is good luck, because it also has a big yellow envelope marked 'To Ikano Kato on the Occasion of my Death'."

Bingo! I don't figure it for a love letter. Well, maybe that too, but in a manila legal envelope? This is magic will number three. Our lucky number. Locked up nice and tight and unimpeachable. Ready to be found by our hard-working friends of the fourth estate. Seems Mr. Britt Reed also had his paranoid side. Leaving the question - are you still paranoid if they *are* out to get you?

“Good work, ghost-girl. Got to do something nice for that kid.” I wonder fleetingly if they make an 'Intangible Barbie'. Maybe an empty pink box. Late nights make me a little silly.

"Nightwing, we are go." The Bat is back full force. "Pack down. We leave at first light."

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Dull part of the adventure. We leave Kato to sleep on the plane. It is honestly more comfortable than the hotel, and he has had a rough night. I pack down the rooms to 'Bat' standards (fingerprints?, what fingerprints?) while Bruce writes up instructions. Thank you note to the manager weighed down with a hundred dollar bill. For damn sure she would remember us fondly, even if our early check out cost her some sleep. Thank you note to Eddie Begay, pleading urgent business and promising to get back to him. Not so popular, but once the money came in all would be forgiven. Instructions for the Boobsie twins of Nevada mining - Van and Orsdale - sending them back to Reno. No thanks needed there. Just the hope of cash and they'll pant like poodles.

Manager grumbles a it at the wake-up call, but Bruce's platinum card does a lot to make up for it. At full dawn we are officially headed back to Gotham.

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I say officially because that is where the plane went. The clearly marked, FAA registered, flight plan filing plane with billionaire Bruce Wayne on board. But that plane landed for fuel in Grand Junction and three *other* people got off. Three people who walked to another hanger and boarded another plane. New paint job. Flidermouse Cargo. Bruce does have a sense of humor.

"Hi, Earl." Bruce's secret engineer and chief deviser of bat-stuff. Also one hell of a pilot. Probably a lot of other things too, but he never says. Wish he'd come around more, but he works strictly for Batman. Which is probably why Bats has all the best toys.

"Go on back. It's ready." Did I mention he's also a sparkling conversationalist?

"I'm going."

Batman would get the full report. I guide Mr. Kato through the cockpit and into the 'cargo bay'. "Welcome to Batplane III."

Kato seems surprised at the mundanity.

"I know, the black model gets all the press, but consider how obvious it is. They'd make us on radar. Well, if it showed, they would. But no one looks twice at commercial cargo. " I yawn and settle into one well-upholstered couch bolted within the spacious interior. "This is the one he uses most."

After a careful look around the furnished cabin, Kato relaxes into a couch of his own. "A mobile headquarters. How ingenious."

"Three bedrooms, three baths, kitchen, armory, sat-link...all the comforts of home." I grab a Soder from the mini-frig, and at Kato's nod toss him another. Check the top shelf. Damn. No Chunky Monkey. Alfred's work. "You're in the middle cabin. Already unpacked. Earl's on the right. Bruce and me on the left." I take a deep swallow. Cold and perfect. Life is good.

"Sorry about the shell game. Probably a waste of time, but..."

"Concealment is never wasted."

Have I finally met someone as paranoid as the Bat? "Sounds like experience talking."

"Britt Reid was - quite skilled."

I perk up at the mention. Kato knows that I'm interested.

"The Hornet was not his only mask. Britt had many 'secret identities'. Gordon Jones, Al Hodge, Warren Hull... I do not think even Lowrey discovered them all."

Mental note. Get a list of the ones Bromley would know and send it to Babs. A few rentals and reservations to keep Carlin occupied elsewhere. Not that he impressed me as a detective, but every little bit hurts.

"Lowery said you were the gadget man." I wonder if Alfred at least packed Choco's. Probably not.

"To make machines, yes. But *he* first taught me the power to make oneself what one was not."

I'm considering a second can when Bruce comes in holding a thick report. Earl talks to *him*. "Sunset in nine hours. Central City in four." He is speaking mostly to Kato. I know the drill. "We'll have a final briefing after we land. Until then?" He pauses. "Try to rest."

From Bruce, Kato takes suggestions. Picking up his drink, he nods a polite goodnight and strolls back to his cabin.

Bruce pours himself a cup of coffee, then leans against the counter flipping through his papers. Not his usual focused self.

"Problem?"

"Financial report."

Might as well be Chinese to me. Except I speak Chinese. "What? She's broke?"

"Hardly. Bromley linked enterprises make up 12% of the mid-city economy."

Nothing to me, but to Bruce it matters. Guess my incomprehension shows.

"Her businesses provide several thousand local jobs."

Leave it to Bruce to worry about that. That why he is who he is. The world's finest.

"Those jobs stabilize local communities. If... *When* we take her down, it will panic local capital. A long court battle, with no clear ownership, could hurt those thousands." A disturbing vision only he sees. "That can't happen. She has to go down hard...and fast."

"Then she will." Not reassurance. Just certain faith that whatever the Bat required would happen. I lean over and take the binder, tossing it on the low table. "You're tired. Come to bed."

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All that shoulder tension that I hadn't been able to work out the night before. Besides, I am tired, and grumpy, and chocolate deprived, and I *really* need a hug. At least. "Better yet, shower first, then bed." That's another thing I need.

I watch Bruce go through his clothes-hanging ritual. I may resent the regimentation it reveals, but the body it reveals - that I enjoy. A private and quite unconscious strip show. Back in Bludhaven I'd just drop mine. In the hamper if I was feeling neat. Here Bruce takes each garment and hangs it for me. Who cares? As long as I can watch him. Even in this his movements are glorious. The lift of his shoulders, the flex of his back, and his ass...his ass. I could watch that all night. Except that I get impatient. Control is everything. But he is everything else.

I wait until the shoes are on their rack, but the minute the closet closes I drag him to the shower.

Water is heavy, so the holding tanks have to be limited, but the high intensity nozzles make the most of what there is. Airplane bathrooms are notoriously small. I'm willing to squeeze.

The shower door seals tight. Necessary on a plane. The steam zero's out visibility, but I'm willing to work by touch. Like the blind samurai, I trust to my sword. I feel the last of Bruce's annoyances wash away with the hot water. Good. The rough nap of his washcloth slides down my back, relaxing my mind and stiffening everything else. Very good. Scrubbing my back while his other hand runs down my chest. Very, very good. But the shower *is* small.

Kill the water and grab for the bath sheet. Extra large. One size fits two. Still damp when we hit the bed, but who cares? We will trash the sheets anyway. I damn near lost Bruce down there. Now I mean to damn sure get him back. I press against him, every inch of flesh to every inch, seeking reassurance as much as joy. Both are there. My lips press his as his hardness presses my thigh. My hands grip his hips, bucking his firm stomach against my weeping shaft. How I need him. Now.

He feels my fervor, echoes it with hands and lips, reaching and claiming in equal heated haste. One press and his legs roll up to my shoulders, exposing my heaven to my hungry eyes.

Fortunately, Alfred isn't a total kill-joy. He did remember my favorite lavender massage oil.

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The landing wakes me. I never wake well, but at least this time I wake happy. Warm and snuggly and in the perfect mood to go back to sleep, except there's work to be done and just maybe not much time.

Central City International is a real airport. We have a reserved hanger on the commercial side. Covered windows. A nice safe place for all our special toys. Which means at least three hours helping Earl set things up. That's the only way that heroing is worse than the circus. No roustabouts. The stars have to do all the work themselves.

Bruce helps, but he's off and on with Oracle. Confirming 'our' landing in Gotham. Making sure 'we' got home safe. Final systems check. Final personnel update. Once we're in the only way out is through.

Kato runs katas. Working out with the new suit. It's light, but not cloth. The movement is different with kevlar. Three days is not much time to adapt a lifetime style, but he's determined. Looks good from here. Bruce has the better eye. He'll know.

Earl unloads and assembles Bat II. The body-plane. No one else gets to touch it.

I check my de-cell and load extra blades. This is going to be 'eminent danger to self and others'. I am loading for bear.

Bruce checks with the Hard Cases. They confirm bugs planted in all her public offices. They even got a passive tracer on three of her cars.

Kato cleans and loads the gas-gun. I've heard of it, but this is my first real look. Far side of a closet doesn't count. Supposed to be non-lethal. Anything that can knock a man cold at room dilution - that's nasty stuff. Britt wasn't Bruce. They *had* a body count. I think. Or is that just an urban legend?

Earl set's out our parameter. Laser. Sound and motion. Ground vibration. Roof pressure. Industrial area, so they'll have to be monitored constantly. That's his job. Keep us low. Batman and Nightwing aren't here. If all goes well we never will be. This is the Green Hornet's show.

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Final briefing one hour after sunset. The whole crew settles in at our new monitor room.

"Question one. You did not know about the garage 'closet'?" Not a question, but Kato nods to confirm. "How likely there's something else we don't know?"

"Very. Even I did not know all his secrets." Kato's hands tighten. "But then, I did not demand to know."

Ouch! That stings. Let's not go there.

I click a map up to the screen.

"Suggestions?" We have to hit her weak points, and Kato has the best chance of knowing them.

"Few." He gives his full attention to the display. "The city has changed greatly since our time."

Try here. I reclick, reducing our view to the 1950 borders. Still a lot of turf.

"Civic opera, Keye Concert Hall." he muses. "Central Athletic Culture Club, no." One finger scanning the map. "Ah! The Cincinnatus Society." He turns to me. "A 'gentleman's club'. Ladies too, now. Very patriotic. Britt was a member. She is certainly an active member. It is ... advantageous."

I click up the floor plan. Nice old warren of a building, all brick and windows.

"Wednesday night dinner. She will attend."

"Risky with a crowd."

"Temporary waiters. They have it catered. It is easy to pass unnoticed."

That gets him a look from the Bat.

"You are certain that none of the other members will remember you?" Bruce glances at the membership list. "Some are old enough."

"Better yet," I smile "Any of those old guys hate Bromley and like you?" A loyal 'brother' on the inside could make this easy.

"They never met me." A pause. "They were friends of Britt's father. Do you think they would welcome his sons Filipino valet?" A shrug. "No matter. I know the floor plan well."

"Where else?"

"Straight Shooter's Road House. It was the Green Hornets 'place'. A speakeasy during Prohibition, and a dive afterwards. The supposed owner ran a craps game in the back. He was harmless. The Hornet used it as a meeting place for gangsters. 'Six finger' Malone went out of business after they built the new McNider Bridge, but the building is still there. Bromley never went in, but she'll know of it."

"And?" Batman prompts, picking up on some invisible hesitation.

"Her law firm."

Floor fourteen of the Old Courthouse building. I bring it up. The floor plans do show a 'Bromley' listed.

"She retained her office there. I know little about it. When Britt wished to speak to an attorney, they would come to him."

A short list. So many landmarks were lost or changed.

"The house, of course."

Oh yes. She had moved in before the body was cool. Turf war. I mark the site for surveillance. Not a long list, but enough for now.

All resources in place and we are go for part one. I'm on the monitor. Batman will take the wing. Operation Sting is on.


	8. The Hornet's Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Very VERY Offensive Language! Not Just Dirty Words! Evil people are not PC!

From the air-cam I get my first good look at the Hornet's Nest. Definitely digs to kill for. Big brick box with green shutters and white pillars out front. Maybe not quite the gothic pile I sometimes call home, but imposing in a chilly Federalist way. Real super-hero digs. Don't know what it is about Victorian architecture that makes men want to go around wearing masks, but there it is.

Very pre-war inside. International style and Bahus. Leather and wood. Lots of cash for no comfort. With all the money she stole you think she could spring for a new couch. No dice.

Library on the east side. The kind where no one reads the books. Decorative places just begging to hide a bug. Big oak slab of a desk covered with files. Fancy French doors. Perfect to let in the light. And the Hornets.

I settle back to watch the show.

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"Good evening, Miss Bromley." A voice behind her ear. Claudia Bromley spins in the leather chair that had obscured her rear view. Her right hand claws beneath the desk for the loaded pistol she believes is there. Kato see it too. No need to warn him.

"Ka.." The vision strikes her dumb. That mask. That uniform. That gun! Her brain seemed torn between remembering how to breath and trying to remember how lethal the gas-gun was. "Wha.." With a shake she struggles back to composure. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you not wish to see me?" I watch him step forward, his empty hand touching one thick file on her desk. "Such great effort for a goal one does not desire."

Seeing his gaze elsewhere, she takes her chance. The moment the barrel clears the desk her finger clenches on the trigger, and again, and again. To her horror, the only sound is a hollow click.

Kato smiles, stepping back. "So unwelcoming to an old friend. After all these years, is it still jealousy, or only greed?"

She drops the gun and jumps for the alarm button. On impact, it sounds. Security will be there soon. But when she looks up, the room is empty. Empty except for a small paper disk. The sign of the Green Hornet.

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We watch her on the monitors, seeing and hearing through the bugs Kato has planted. Watch her guards arrive. Watch them leave, shaking their heads..

We watch her check the locks, and find them closed. Watch her grab the phone and dial.

"Henderson. I want double security. Now. Yes, I mean tonight. NOW!"

I hear her curse as she slammed down the phone. "Damn shack is full of tunnels. I thought Britt showed me all of them, but who knows." She glares at a picture on the wall. Britt Reid and her, but Kato is in the background by the car. "God damn pansy gook bastard. Always was full of tricky shit." Really. The lady should watch her language. Or at least her volume. Any louder and I could hear her without the bug.

She reaches down for the card, but it's vanished. The Hornet patch was on special dissolving paper, so no evidence for the house dogs.

Shaking her head, she crosses the room to the wet bar. "Fuck him!" She pulls out a bottle and pours a hefty shot. "Somehow. Somehow I can take care of this." The first sip of bourbon seems to clear her head. "Think! What does the bastard want? And can I afford to give it to him? Better?" I get a glimpse of a most unpleasant smile. "What does he want, and how can I make him think I'll give it to him. 'Cause I damn well *will* give it to him. Give it to him good. The next time I see that faggot there damn sure *will* be bullets in my gun." Slamming back the rest of her drink, she drops the glass to the desk.

She reaches for the phone. At the last second she pulls back. "No. No witnesses. Little Claudie handles this herself!"

Pep talk over, she straightens. I can tell from her posture she feels back in control.

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Another drink. Number four. She's seriously worried and it shows. I was hoping she would go to bed and let the rest of us get some sleep. No luck. It's about 2 a.m., well into my boredom range, when she suddenly jumps into action. Grabs her keys and heads out the door. I almost hoped for a lucky cop, but what fools going to bust a Senator DUA? Besides, we have to find out where she is headed.

No visual, but the automobile tracer shows bright on our radar. Staying in town. Good. Harder to tag someone in the country. She drives fairly well for a drunk, and at this time of night the roads are empty. Let that quiet my conscience.

The moment she passes her gate the Bat is back in. Perfect opportunity. The guards are all so dutifully staring at the outside. I split the screen to watch him. A quick check of her desk, her hidden cabinet behind the bookshelves, and of course the safe. Cash, a little coke, and some papers. That last must be interesting. He takes the time to photograph a few of the sheets. Incriminating, I hope.

Short drive. In less then twenty minutes she is stopped again. Inside parking. Computer says 14th and Riverway. Old Courthouse Square. The Hall of Records. Also the offices of Scranton, Bromley, Didrich & Witherspoon. Seems she dropped the practice but kept the key. Good perp. Walk on in.

I pick her up again when she crosses the security cameras. Broadcast model. Easy to tap. Second basement. Record storage. Fuzzy feed now, but I don't need much to know where she is going. Beeline straight for the magic will. Big relief that it's still there. (Thinks you!) She grabs it file and all and fires up the shredder. Thirty seconds and the will is legal linguine. She's halfway turned to leave when she catches sight of the card that dropped from the file. The mark of the Green Hornet.

No quite as steady a driver on the way home, but she makes it. One more drink before bed. Leaves the lights on.

Good.

About time the bitch was afraid of the dark.

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The 'dark' makes it home a little after she does. When she wakes up she'll find another card beside her bed. This time there will be a note. "Missing you." Yeh. But his aim is improving. I can't wait to see her face.

I have dinner waiting. Seafood pasta. Starch and protein. Strong tea with extra sugar. Kato's near the shakes from burning adrenaline. Fifty years out of practice at getting shot. Doesn't matter. On stage he was perfect. Bruce is hyped too, but he covers it better. More recent experience.

We go over what they saw of her security. I run tape of the monitor. Pull off pictures of her security goons to send to Oracle. Batman took a few more of the outside guys. Four in all. Two dogs. And this is her standard. 'The weed of crime bears bitter fruit'. Was that the Hornet? Guess she's afraid of running into someone like herself.

I dump the digital camera and send a copy off to Kent. Interesting stuff. Nothing as lethal as we'd like, but her coffin needs every nail that we can forge.

Thinking of forged, I place another call to our 'will' specialist. Nice thing about forgeries. You can get as many of them as you want. The now-missing testament should be back in the file by morning.

It's past sunrise before we're finished. Kato goes straight to bed. The man's tough, but he's still 70 something.

Bruce is too wired to sleep. More then usual for such a simple outing, but he's backing up someone new. Also, I think he feels strange with Kato being so old. This is a young man's game. Mostly. Garrick is older than Kato - I think - but it doesn't seem the same with speedsters. Wildcat's sort of immortal. Judomaster got suspended in time or something. Kato...he's just a guy. I try to imagine Bruce at seventy. I can't.

We try working out for a while. Necessary. We're both behind schedule. Bad idea. Too much adrenaline for gymnastics and to tired for weights. Stupid time to risk injury.

One more choice.

My favorite.

I reach over and give him a great big kiss.

I know. I've sworn off the manipulation stuff. And Bruce promised to back off on the control. But there's also the responsibility to take care of a partner. And it's not like I'm faking it or anything. So if a good blowjob works for both of us? Go for it.

And he does. He always does.

That was one of our issues. One of the two biggies. Bruce doesn't like wanting something he doesn't own. I refuse to be owned. It got unhealthy for a while. But we are past that. We look out for each other, but out of love.

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Much more relaxed, Bruce is working out with freeweights when Kato rejoins us. I have a CD in and am doing my long floor routine. Double cut of the Boss. 'No Surrender' and 'Dancing in the Dark'. One more reason I never considered the Olympics. The judges have crappy taste in music.

Kato joins us. Suited up. He goes through his warm-ups while Batman brings him up to date. Then some mat work. Kato's still damn good, and the Bat loves learning a new opponent.

Bromley spends the day locked in her private office nursing a hangover and a severe case of paranoia. She'd searched her office for bugs first thing this morning. Found a few, but not ours, so we'd had her on the monitor like a soap opera all day. Oracle had tapped her phone, so we got to enjoy the various threats she sent to her less public 'employees'. Real fun. We even had her half believing the Hornet was back. At least she was willing to put a price on his head. Stopped herself, but still. I love the way panic turns the mooks stupid. I mean, she saw him dead. She buried him. We're not talking Superman here. Tim suggested she should pay herself. Brat.

Ikano Kato showing up in Copper Flats had triggered her net, but nowhere near soon enough for her to get a tail on him. She has her pet detective running the hotels. No imagination. Finds a few of the names Babs put out for him. Idiot. Alfred reports a watcher at Wayne Manor. Another loser doing park-n-peek. Amazing the bum is still in business. Oracle caught a worm check on credit cards, which was slightly illegal and totally ineffective. Like we carry credit cards that say 'super-hero'.

Actually, I think Batman does. Have a credit card. So does Kal-El. Some Justice League thing. American Express, I think. For when they don't have the local cash.

The double guards are in place at the house, but they aren't taking it seriously. From their talk, they take her for a ditz or a drunk. Maybe both. It should be easier to walk in now than it was last night. She called the police chief and had the local cops put on notice, but they are taking their attitude from the rent-boys. Makes me embarrassed for my profession. Hey, if they screwed around enough, maybe she'll insist on a real cop. Detective John Jones, for instance. Maybe he should volunteer for this post. Or Detective Knight. He could keep a special close eye on her health. Hell, wish for Barry Allen while I was at it. The visual gave me a laugh. Like she'd let anyone she didn't own within fifty feet.

She even called some spook at the FBI. Who *listened*. Like they have some department of ghosts-who-came-back-from-the-dead. I thought it was a hoot. Batman took the names for later investigation. Tough luck. Brother should be more careful who he hangs with.

All told, she is right on schedule to make this work.

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Seven o'clock. Bromley gets a ride to her club. Doesn't want to be alone. Good She's cut back on the booze and cleaned up for the show. Won't last.

Nice place inside. Twenties art-deco architecture with a yuppie designer veneer. Old money and new. Useful mix.

Senator Claudia Bromley in center screen. It's prime time as she meets and greets.

Air-kiss for Judge MacRae. Best keep the law happy. Even Not that I'd grant her a guilty conscience. Just a law degree. Basic fact. Murder is federal.

Handshake for Halpern. Real estate developer type. Major Bromley contributor. He needs her votes.

Air kiss for Anne Nagel. Editor of the rival Central Press-Times. Editors are honorary members of all these clubs, especially the ones with pretensions. Rule I learned from Clark. Never pick a fight with folks who buy their ink in barrels.

Smile at Mayor Caldon. Other party, but he loves the money she brings to the city. Count him as her ally. For now.

Shovel the charm. These folks are the powers of Central City and if it comes to a shit-slinging match she damn-sure wants them on her side.

She picks at her salad. Busy chatting with the table. Second drink but she's maintaining. A smattering of applause. Not for the rubber chicken starting to be served. Tonight's speaker is being introduced. Perfect time.

Two waiters approach with plates. No one even looks up. Too busy trashing the guest of honor. The older man is gone from the room before Claudia notices something wrong with her fork. Good girl. Look down.

Zoom in for a perfect shot. There, right on her plate. The seal of the Green Hornet.

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They send her home in a taxi. Everyone is publicly sympathetic, but since the seal has vanished, they privately think she's nuts. Or a drunk. Which she is. I leave the tap on for a while. These shindigs aren't so bad when I go like this.

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Eleven o'clock. She's had a few more drinks, but not enough to impair her driving. Her judgment, maybe. I didn't give a damn about that, but this will work better if she keeps the car on the road. Perfect time for a phone call from the past. Kato reaches for the handset.

Five rings, but she does pick up. Good. "Miss Bromley?" She starts as if the voice was someone there. "Are you not glad to hear from your old friends? We have so much to discuss. So much past. So many... memories."

She's hitting the recording device on her phone. Mental note; aren't the silent taps illegal in this state? For a lawmaker she's a regular scofflaw. Won't work. Batman 'fixed' that to.

"What do you want?" To the point. And to the tape.

"To talk. About old times... and about the future. You *have* quite a future, I hear. The news people, they mention your name as a Vice President. A high honor, would you not agree?"

"I have no reason to deal with you." She tries for firm, but I think I detect a waver in her voice. I glance down at the panel. Speech analyzer confirms.

"You have many reasons. Forty million reasons." Give her a moment to let that sink in. "Let us start with say - fifty thousand. Tonight. The Straight Shooter's Road House. North end of the McNider Bridge."

"Or else?"

"Ahh. I see you have forgotten our happy past. I may have to remind you. Midnight. Tonight."

Perfect. He cut the link.

Batman had the monitor. I was watching over his shoulder. I step back as he stands.

Bromley has the cash. In bundled bills in the library safe. Batman had checked it out before he had picked the amount. Dumb place to keep money.

We leave Earl to watch her jump around. He'll call if anything happens to change the plan. But she'll be there, and we'll be there waiting. I do pause one moment to watch her play back the tape. No voice but hers. The look on her face is priceless.

Some days I know why I love this job.


	9. Once Stung

Cold night. North wind. I'm flat in some brush just down from McNiders Point, just past the highway curve. Place smells of trash. Central City needs a better anti-littering program. Someone was getting a ticket when I got home.

I can see the bridge. Bromley has made the meet. But the place is lit like a drunk on New Year's Eve. Batman has checked the hills. No snipers left. She's here alone. As she agreed. We think.

Not that she *came* alone. The Ford parked just off the road brought two bruisers. Local 'talent". No talent. Kato took them down without our help. Gas gun works. They'll wake up sometime tomorrow. Sweet dreams.

Hard approach. Lights and concrete. Better for us if she'd taken cover near the ruins, but the car's dead center on the slab. Possible by air. Not Kato's skill.

Batman appears at my side. "All set."

"Holy… How are we going to make that? She'll have him made before he's in rifle range - much less gas gun."

"With this." Batman carefully hands me a bulbous pistol-like device. "When she walks away from the car, aim at the lights."

I wasn't even certain how to hold it, and it showed.

"It's an anti-light generator. Xenotech - out of Opal City."

"I though Starman had...whatever...a 'cosmic rod'?"

"This is from Phantom Lady."

That gets my respect. She was one of the first to 'don the gaudy rags of justice and battle the dark forces of crime' or however that goes. Make a note to reread Behind the Mask. OK. Site, barrel, trigger. I test the weight. This is an energy weapon. It shouldn't throw. Just centered aim. When she moves. That works. Only one question. "Phantom Lady just *gave* it to you?"

"To Kato. She worked with Green Hornet during the war. She remembers them fondly. She remembers Bromley too."

Not so fondly, I would guess. Bromley was big on campaigns for 'morality'. 'Dirty' movies. 'Wild' bars. Public dancing. Phantom Lady was...remembered for more then her fighting. Hell, *I* had one of her posters as a kid. Probably still in print. If she was the first to start she was also one of the first to pack it in. Right after Mr. Terrific. The minute the war was over. Guess she didn't fit the 'New America'. Hippolyta the virgin Wonder Woman, OK. Liberty Belle the newlywed - perfect. The hard living, hard fighting Phantom Lady? Not quite PC. Never knew where she went. Didn't even know she was from Opal City. Secret identities are like that. Never knew that Batman knew her. Maybe we can get together after this mission.

No hint to the spread on this thing. Figure I need a clean hit. Snipers stance. Bridge spots first. Headlights second.

Batman vanishes. He'll cover Kato.

Even at this distance I can see Bromley is wired. Likely coked. Guess she is fifty years out of practice also. Well, forty at any rate. Having to steel herself for murder one. On her own, not likely she'll take her hand from the car.

Sudden crack from the woods. Not loud, but loud enough. Bromley pats her waist. Amateur. Now we know where she's carrying. She hesitates, but looks over her back. Gives it a thought. Grabs the heavy flashlight and walks around the car to check it out. Five Feet. Ten. Showtime!

The dark-gun is a beauty. Narrow spread. No kick. Takes the bridge lights in a series of three, then the car half a second later. No damage. Just instant dark. I have got to see if I can get one of these.

I was worried she'd panic and fire wild, but she holds it together. Just. Ten seconds for the lights to come back. When they do, Kato is standing between her and the car.

"You!" She was expecting someone else? Probably short for 'you bastard', but why make things worse.

She damn near has a stroke when he reaches into the back and snags her briefcase full of cash. Nice heavy bag. The full amount. We know that because Earl saw her count it out. Bet she also planned to take it home.

"All of it, I hope?" The smile in his voice makes it that much more of a threat.

"Fifty thousand." She spits the words. "Will that do you?"

"For tonight." She truly misses the meaning in his voice. "For tonight this is enough. We will deal again in the future."

That does it. She totally loses it. No stealth. No aim. Just pull and rapid fire. Eight straight. Full clip.

Of course, it doesn't work. As planned. She carefully checked the ammo. I carefully disabled the pin.

Four clicks before she notices something's is wrong.

Rage city and no telling what she'll do. He's got the gas-gun but I don't trust it. Time to ring down this show.

Two second warning buzz and I take out the lights again. When they come back Kato's gone.

I stay in place until Batman and Kato signal me. I pull back. Carefully. Mostly not to jolt the gun. I love this thing, and I do *not* want the Phantom Lady pissed at me. I'm not worried about being made. Bromley isn’t seeing anything but her own hate.

I catch up with at the road, hopping into the back of an unremarkable Buick with local plates. Earl's work. We stash the suits and roll on looking like civilians. When we cross the bridge I risk a glance down. Claudia's still there, pounding the roof of her car. She is absolutely going to crack.

Kato suggests that she may have bugged the cash. No prob. I pick the lock and throw the whole thing out the window on our way home. It bounces a few times before it pops. That's fifty thou. that will never be seen again.

Just think of it as an urban myth being born.

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The hanger is dark when we drive in. A faint light shines from the monitor, but nothing to attract notice. Airport runs more then that in ambient light. I take Earl's post so he can shake down the car. Just in case. Bromley's still on the road, but she's moving fast. Batman hooks in to Oracle. Slim chance of anything new, but his energy needs an outlet. Bruce won't be Bruce until we're locked down for the day.

Key card message. She's home. I actually feel relief when Bromley clears the gates. We're picking up from her security cameras. I can track her after the garage. She looks bad. The adrenalin has burned off, along with whatever else she had. Damn near ready to jones. Security should be in there. Yeah. Like they'd risk their jobs. No way she'd want to be seen like this.

Off camera for a minute. Crossing the yard. I hear one of her men call out a challenge. Can't make out the words. She must answer, because he backs off.

Pick her up again at the library. Better resolution here. Bat cameras. She looks worse now than she did in black and white.

Pulls a packet out of the top drawer. Mirror and straw. She's dusting. Thought so. The hit brings her back a little. Plus a shot from the bourbon bottle on her desk. Southern lady to the end.

I lean back, figuring she's set to fry her brains for a while. Almost miss her reaching for the phone. I click to tap. Who the hell is she calling at this time of night? What's that in her hand?

Holy...demon dialer. No way I'll hear the number but the computer... Ouch. Fancy scrambler. I shunt the signal to Oracle . Long shot, but maybe her rig can decode it. No chance that I'll be able to pick up that call.

"Webley-Fosberry recommended you."

Shit. The good news is, I know who she's calling. The bad news is, I *know* who she's calling.

"Senator Claudia Bromley." A pause while she listens. "Coast City. As soon as possible. Now. Tonight." She seems to relax. "Fine. No problem."

That's bad.

"A Mister K*A*T*O that's last name Kato, first name I*K*A*N*O Ikano. I'm sending a file."

More hum on the line. Transmission.

"I don't care if he's one hundred and seventy."

Another pause.

"Not dead enough."

That must have got a laugh. Bromley looks pissed.

"If I knew where he was, do you think I'd be asking you?"

Whatever she hears makes her straighten in her seat. "I know what I saw. He was in Nevada three days ago and he's here in Central City now."

Bromley’s hyped now and it shows.

"No. Not Wayne. The cop if you want to."

Response must not make her happy, cause she reaching for the bottle. "Screw that. That's what I pay you for." She takes a long pull. "Look, I don't give a shit... Just find the mother and whack him."

She’s given up on the glass. Bottle to throat, no stops.

“What the..."

The line goes dead.

Hell. Half of *that* conversation is enough for me. I route a copy to Alfred. Priority One. Didn't sound like we’ve got an assassin headed for Gotham, but better safe and all that. He'll secure the house. Just in case. I wave Batman over. He *has* to hear this. From the sound, I don't think Vic took the job, but..."

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Other than that, the night’s pretty much routine. Except this time Earl cooked. Chicken stew. Earl's a great mechanic, but sort of a basic cook. Doesn't matter. It's what I need.

Much discussion, but it comes down to this. The next time Bromley sees Kato she is definitely going to crack. Just totally lose it. Which was the idea but still makes me nervous. I mean, I deal with enough crazy people already. Two Face. Joker. Poison Ivy. The vagrants down on the Spur. And we're making one more.

Crazy people are always dangerous. Hard to predict. The Senator's actively tried to shoot Kato twice. I figure she means it. Next time she might have a working gun. Of course, that's what the kevlar is for. But it's not perfect. One head shot can ruin your whole day.

More to the point, I am *not* happy with Bromley out on the road. She's drinking hard, and this stress isn't going to make her sober. Just luck that she got home tonight with no accidents. Maybe it's my cop side showing. I don't want to put her out on the road again.

Batman seems surprised, but agrees. The final blow-up is moved onto the estate.

He calls two day's break while we get our players in place. Also to give Bromley time to get nervous. Haunt her every night and it gets routine.

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Bruce and Earl vanish into the machine shop with Phantom Lady's pistol. Just can't resist the puzzle.

I have a few puzzles myself. Not that I normally pry, but...? What am I supposed to do? Watch Oprah? Will Donahue do 'Superhero's and the sidekicks who love them?'. I learned the hard way that sometimes you have to ask.

"Ikano. Can I ask you a personal question?" Monitor's on, but I turn it down. She's not moving.

"Ask? Of course." Meaning he may not answer. That's fair.

"I thought you said you meet Britt Reed in college?"

"And you wonder why an engineer with an MBA would work as a valet?"

"Why? No." I mean, Bruce has Alfred Penneysworth. "You've met Alfred?" Sort of a question.

"I have had the honor." He understands.

"I just don't see how you got away with it."

"Those were the thirties. And the Depression. Assumptions were...different. I do not say an engineering career would have been impossible - not even for a 'pansy' Korean - but no one wondered at...lesser choices. Most would have said I was lucky to have a 'good job'."

"And none of your college friends wondered?" Fair question. Hey, I still get calls from Bruce's friends who wonder why I'm a cop. One of the reason I hate 'society' parties. I spend them turning down 'better jobs'.

"I had no 'college friends' as you mean them."

What? They guy may be a bit weird, but he's not sociopathic. Even Bruce made a few friends.

"I was not a 'college student' - I was a cook."

That gets my attention.

"I do have the degrees. How to explain..." Kato look off into nowhere. After a moment. "City College prided itself on being a 'progressive' institution. Which means they talked socialism and felt good while keeping all their old prejudices. Plus they were as short of money for their grand designs as all such institutions tend to be. Being 'progressive', they of course believed in unions and workers rights and all such things. Being short on cash, they paid almost nothing. But they made us 'students'. We could take classes if there were still seats left after enrollment. Students, of course, work for low wages and no benefits."

"They attracted many young people who hoped for a better life. Myself among them. Of course, it is hard to do well without books or tools, and to graduate would take many years. Few succeeded. But it made the Dean feel 'egalitarian'. I was accustomed to work and patience, and I could make extra money in the fight clubs, so I could buy books. That is how I earned the Engineering degree. Also it was useful to fix the lawn mowers."

"That is how Britt learned of me. One of his friends had lost money betting against me. My opponent was slow, not difficult, but much larger. Size impresses the ignorant. Most profitable odds. His friend complained of 'unfairness', but Britt only wished to learn my methods. I told him I had too much work already, and no time for more. So...he hired me."

"His father did not questions matters. It seems strange to you, but not at the time. Many rich students had their servants. I could no longer attend classes, of course. I no longer worked for the school. It did not matter. I had Britt. I would have served him forever. Then, his father died. Britt inherited, but the Board had control of the paper until he turned 21. So we stayed at the school. He said I should be a student full time. Some wondered at that, but most praised his 'charity'. It was, as you now say, politically correct to advance a 'backwards race'. Thus the MBA. More useful to a publisher than machine tools. When he graduated, I went with him."

"And you were...lovers? All along?"

"Almost from the first."

"And it never got in the way of ... your work?"

"His work." Emphatic tone there. "That shocks you? It was always Britt's work. The gangsters could have the city. Or the country, for all I cared." He considers that a bit. "Not the bomb, of course. We had seen what such could do. No human could want such a thing in any hands." His vehemence seemed to shock even him. "But rackets and corruption and vice? These were his worries."

"And the 'work'. That never hurt your relationship?"

"Not for me." He pauses, appearing to consider the matter in depth. "I have sometimes wondered how much Britt Reed knew of my ...tastes...when he approached me. I had been careful in my associations but he was always perceptive. Already, he had his sources who told him things. Perhaps that was another value to him."

The thought does not seem to bother him. I say as much.

"Without knowing, how much could he know? Then, such secrets were secret indeed." He smiles. These memories are fond. "I do not know if he had ...attractions...before. He always called himself my 'virgin bride'. And in the end, it would make no difference. If that was our bargain, then I was glad of it."

Kato looks at me, serious. "Do you trouble yourself with such things? You and your beloved?"

"Sometimes." I shrug. "The way you see us now, well - things are working out. I think. But were still not...together together. It's like… You know where I live."

"So you doubt his love?"

"It's not the love part that bothers me. I mean, I know Bruce loves me. Even if he didn't *love* me he'd love me. But sometimes...that's the problem."

"It's..." How do I say this and not sound - wrong? "I met Bruce really young. Too young. And then I grew up." And he didn't. But that would sound even worse. "We had some problems. Especially with the whole side-kick thing. It got bad for a while. So I ...left."

"I came back, but I didn't come *back*. Not like it was." How could I? Robin was someone else.

"And now there's the question of my job. Bruce isn't real tight with the police thing." As in totally opposed. "Part of that is because of Nightwing, and part because he doesn't really trust the concept of police, and part is because he wants me back in Gotham." And being Robin under another name. Or at least Mrs. Bruce Wayne under another name.

"Part of why he wants me back in Gotham is for us, but part of it's for him. He want me running WayneTech, but that's not my thing."

But it's not Bruce’s thing either. It's his burden. If I was a real partner, wouldn't I think of him first?

"I never planned to be a cop. I started in the police academy as a cover. Now? It's getting real to me." Too real. More real then Nightwing. Maybe more real than the Bat. "But to move up as a cop in Bludhaven means I stay in Bludhaven."

Kato frowns. "I do understand. I have no answers. It is easy to give up everything for love. Harder perhaps to stand firm because of ones love. To ask is to risk. Yet... It is what I did not ask I now regret."

I understand too. I just don't know what to do with the knowledge. But I do know I don't want to spend fifty years of my life missing someone. And I can't spend fifty years being who I'm not. I'll work it out. Somehow.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

Bruce is relaxed when he comes back in. Must mean that Earl has a lead on the dark gun. More Bat-toys for the Bat. Put it on my Christmas list.

Near dawn. Time to pack it in. I pass off monitor to Earl, who conspicuously turns back up the sound. Jackass. I tell him I'll pick it up at noon. No answer. Earl talks only to the Bat.

Given his choice, Batman would spend a few more hours going over plans. So I don't give him a choice. Even Kal needs to sleep.

One touch on his shoulder nets me instant attention from Bruce - and a dirty look from Earl. I don't know if he wants Bruce, or just wants Bruce's undivided attention. Either way, not a chance.

This is my happy time. The plan is in place and everything is working well. I can feel the enthusiasm in his kiss, the unsuppressed energy as he strokes my back and thighs. A bit if adrenalin left over from tonight to feel the burn, but not so much that the need comes before the love. I roll with him, returning kiss for kiss and touch for touch. Stoking already bright flames until every nerve is on fire. We have time, and space, and hours before the masks return to our lives.

I feel his hard length rise against mine, cocks rubbing together but unconfined. Bright, random bursts of pleasure in a greater joy of hand and lip and tongue. Ready for him, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him in. His gasp and mine, swallowed by kisses as the velvet heat spreads with me. He reaches for my cock, pressing the aching length against his belly to share every drawn-out thrust. I free one hand to travel the flexing length of his back and settle deep between the twitching globes of his ass. With one long finger I circle, then enter him, matching my stroke to his, echoing the deeper penetration with my own.

No control is perfect. I feel him stiffen, his balls tensing against my cheeks, and as he spills within me I feel my own pleasure come in rolling waves to spray between us.

I roll back, limp but happy. Later one of us will rise for a washcloth. For now, the world is perfect here in his arms.


	10. Twice Shy

Noon briefing.

Gotham still quiet. Huntress thinks the runners may move soon. Minor problem. If we're not back, Azeral will give her back-up. Might mean a few more broken bones. Robin says he’ll join, if he can 'break out of jail'. Tim likes Hellena. They work well together.

Cassandra reports everything still quiet. No one has backtracked Ikano Kato to Bob Lee - yet.

Bab's diversion is working. Carlin’s been racking up his frequent flyer miles. Quite a bill there. Hope he puts in his expenses early.

No sign of Lady Vic. Gotham or here. Might mean she turned down the hit. Might mean she slipped though our net. Might mean someone else is on the job. Clock is ticking but we can't change course now. Risky to wait. Riskier to fail.

Final call to Kent. 36 hours to splashdown and we are committed.

Batman and Kato decide on the sub-garage for the final showdown. Bromley may know about the tunnels. She may even use them. We'll just use them better.

Kato points out another of the Hornet’s bolt-holes. Formerly a bootleg wine cellar. A nice false wall with plenty of seating space behind it for the press. Inquiring minds and all that. All a polite distance from the closet we aren't supposed to know is there. Maybe Kent can arrange to 'accidentally' run into the door when it's all over. We all know how clumsy he is.

Earl lays out the new floor plan. Tonight we install a few 'toys'. Full mike and cameras. Black laser sensors. We will *own* this terrain.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

I rig some rings. Can't fly here. Roofs not tall enough for a net, and I'm too smart to practice without one, but after a week I need to get off the ground.

Give Kato some practice with the de-cell lines. Just for fun. He's no gymnast but judo teaches balance. Also how to fall. He gets it. Bruce joins in and we run a few easy catches. Showing off. So what. Everyone loves the circus.

Put on my jeans and go out to run a few 'errands'. Glad Earl remembered to pack a road bike. Road survey of the Hornets's Nest. Security is crap. I spot all the cop cars on the first run. Slow down along the fence. That gets the dogs barking. Two Dobermans. Not well trained. Remember the trank gun. Keep them from getting hurt. I like dogs.

Nice day for a ride. Crisp but clear. Wind clears my head. Bruce loves his cave, but too much time indoors and I start to get itchy.

Drive past Blockbuster's Video, which gives me an idea. Can't risk my card but I'm carrying cash. Yep. Big tray of used video's. We have some on the plane, but those are Alfred's selection. Which translates to totally useless. For now. Wouldn't mind watching Midsummer's Night with Bruce, but not in company. No. This time I'm looking for some 'family' fare.

Stop at the 7-11 and pick up some Frosted Coco Bombs on the way back. Something tells me I'm going to need the chocolate.

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Midnight. Zero hour minus 24.

Batman and Kato and Earl will do the set up. That leaves me on monitor duty. I'm a little nervous about Earl. He doesn't move as well as the pros. But...he is the engineer. And this is Kato's show. Kato and Earl for the tech, and the Bat to get them in and out unseen.

They manage. I would have preferred the JLA transporter, but that's not on just now. See if Babs can lay down a little diplomacy.

Babs calls. Seems Huntress was right about her gunrunners. Tried to ship their shit out just after midnight. No chance of Robin, so she went in with the Angel as backup. Worked, but it's a bloody mess and Gordon will be pissed. Couple of pincushion mooks, and Azrael took some punks hand off with that damn sword. Time the Bat had another little chat. With them both. Still. Hospital time is not quite deadly force, so they're still justified. Batman's problem. Thank God. Another call for Babs and diplomacy.

I *know* why John needs chocos.

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Early night. No trouble with the set up. They're back by 2 a.m. Earlier than expected. Guess her guards are even worse than I thought.

Gives us time to watch a video. Big bowl of popcorn and lots of cold soder. I have a real weakness for bad action movies. Probably not enough TV while growing up.

Bruce would never buy one himself. Too low-brow. Alfred wouldn't have it in the house. But if I start one Bruce will watch it with me. Gives him a chance to point out someone else's mistakes. This one was grim. Death and maiming and exploding buildings. A real family comedy. Think Ikano felt a bit weird at first, but he got into it. Fun to shout at the actors. Toss popcorn. This one’s a perfect choice. No plot. Lots of improbable stunts. Lots of bad science. Even Earl relaxed and snarled a few times at the tube.

And Roy says I don't know how to kick back and have fun.

More important, it finally breaks through the tension and lets Bruce get a good night's sleep. Sex is good, but laughter is better. He needs it.

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Day two. 10 a.m.

Coco Bombs for breakfast. The start of a great day. I guy can only live on oatmeal and waffles so long.

Three hours hard training. Nautilus and free weights. Sucks, but I need it. Five hundred pushups, five hundred on the bar. Road trips are hard on the program. Then floor routine. Then horse. Then bars. Then rings. Always leave the good stuff for last.

One hour working my falls with Ikano. He's good, in incredible shape for his age. Not certain I would want to meet him on the street. I reconsider the Bruce-at-seventy question. God no. Don't give him any ideas.

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Noon.

Our representatives of the press arrive. Lois and Clark and Jimmy Olsen. Nice and public on a LexAir flight. Check into the Marriott - Central. Credit card and all. This is one story that needs a paper trail.

Linda Park West arrives a few hours later flying United. Hard to resist that pun. TV coverage is good and besides we owe Wally. She's not exactly hard press, but the last thing we want is 'investigative' reporting.

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A knock on the door. Earl glares at the alarms, but I already cleared the approach from my screen. It's Jimmy Olson. With pizza. Pineapple, sausage, and extra cheese. Good stuff.

It's great to see Jimmy again. I don't have much chance to get to Metropolis any more.

More nasty looks from Earl. So. Earl hates seeing 'civilians' in the 'cave'. Hell, Earl hates anyone who isn't the Bat. He'd have me out if he could.

Screw Earl. Kevlar or no, Jimmy is one of us. They just work plain-clothes on Team Superman.

I've still got the Claudia Bromley show on the main screen, but she's in reruns. We split it with a baseball game and kick back. Jimmy catches me up with the Metro gossip. All the dirt on friends I don't see much these days. I'd love to get in another game of pool at the Solitary Cyclist, but between work and Wing it seems like there's just no time.

Knights vs. Giants, and for once the Knights aren't having their asses handed to them. Good for me. I have ten buck riding on this with Sergeant Amy. Not that she loves the Giant's, but like any good 'Havener nowadays she hates the Knight's. Another five with Jimmy. Looks like next pizza's on me.

Bruce comes by and steals a piece. He likes pizza. He just can't bring himself to order it.

Monitor duty's actually fun with Jimmy here. He's got this strange twist of thought that makes it a weird game. He's warped sometimes, but he's always fun. It's his idea to use the directional mikes to put the Hornet hum in Claudia's ear. We nail her in her office while she's greeting Mothers Against Drunk Driving. No one else can hear it. It's real.

We nail her again in the ladies room. Get to see her scramble for the mike. Fat chance. This is Bat-Tech. Her face is priceless. Jimmy's right. People are always more fun with their pants down.

Clark drops by. Eats the last of the pizza. More sniffs from Earl. Don't know if Earl knows who Clark is. Don't think so. Kato doesn't, so it's all 'Clark' anyway. Wouldn't make any difference to Earl. He's probably the only man on the planet who wouldn't roll over for the blue-and-red. He likes the Bat and *no one* else.

Me? Clark I like. Superman was my boyhood hero, but that's being a kid. Everyone has someone. At least Superman is real. Bruce swooned over a TV show. Dead serious. I *never* make Gray Ghost jokes.

Bruce goes off to do Bruce Wayne things. Lucius wants to buy some radio stations. To go with the TV station he got last year. He says it’s to diversify. I think he's just pissed because Bruce wouldn't let him keep the Daily Planet. As if. Don't care what it looks like, Bruce is *not* suicidal.

Clark goes over to talk with Kato. Not like an interview. This story goes to Lois. More like he's just curious. Makes me wonder just who Clark's boyhood hero's were.

On the way out, Jimmy talks Clark into planting a Hornet right in the middle of her windshield. While she's driving. Superspeed can be a real trick. I worry she'll freak, but Clark promises to catch her if she goes off the road. I make him promise to wait until she's off the freeway.

Lois and Linda? They're at the hotel doing lunch. Chick thing. Hair and nails. Probably going stare-down over the story. They're both sort of aggressive. In a good way. But they take this whole press thing so seriously. So does Clark. Once you know him. He's quiet, but he's real. I know Bruce thinks the whole reporter gimmick is some weird persona thing, but I hang around the Met more than he does. I don't think so.

Truth, Justice, and the Holy First Amendment.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^

Eight p.m. Zero hour minus four. Press check in. Too many people to be invisible but who cares. It's too late for warnings. Earl has two junkers waiting. One-way ticket. We'll ditch them down the road. With any luck we won't need them again.


	11. Folded Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! More VERY BAD LANGUAGE.

Earl has built this really incredible toy. Three inch robot wasp. Flies and everything. Bright green with a buzz that would wake the dead. Looks like something Kyle would think up.

Works great at distracting guards. Two inches from the chumps nose and all he can think is to swat at it. I step up. One solid hit and he's out. And we're in.

Two hours past sunset, and my job is to get the press into place. Even at the back door, Bromley has the place crawling with muscle. No sweat. She hires losers. Lois and Jimmy know how to move, and Linda is learning fast. This is curtains down so there's no need to be discreet. If I see mooks, I take them out. Five bagged and tagged by the time we reach the tunnel entrance. Not half of what's out there, but Batman will do the rest.

Batman dropped by Thursday and carefully pre-picked the lock, so tonight everything moves easy. Well oiled and silent. I grab the bug and stash it. My three charges slide past me and I reclose the door. Don't lock it. Might want the retreat. Drop a few 'Hornet' sensors for early warning in case anyone comes after us. Not likely. Fifteen minutes from now there won't be one unbagged mook on this estate. Except for Claudia Bromley. She's been bagged too. She just doesn't know it yet.

Lois pulls her dark-light. She knows where we're going and she's good enough in a fight, so I let her lead. Our bugs show the tunnel empty. More chance of trouble from the rear.

The four of us reach the site with no real trouble. One semi-close call. One guard kicking back in the public garage just above this one. Taking a dinner break. Probably dodging work. Almost found some instead. Lucky for me he's a noisy eater. I have a nervous moment when the trap door squeals. My bad. Lucky for me the man is dumb as well as lazy. I dump him in the back of Bromley's Caddy. Seems only decent. If he's going to miss out on his pizza he should at least be comfortable.

After that it's a clean run. I help the press settle in their little hide-a-way. Cramped, maybe, but they should have one hell of a view. Then I find my own seat and wait for the show to begin. Lights, camera, ...action.

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First warning is when I hear that haunting buzz.

Down here the echoes give it a major edge. Spooky as hell. Now I understood why the man used it. Sort of an audio-batman. Like something bad is coming and I should be damn glad if it isn't coming for me. Cool.

Following close behind; the woman of the hour, Claudia Bromley. Earl says she's been hitting the hard stuff. She looks it. Wired but warped. She keeps grabbing for the bug, but whatever she's on makes her clumsy and it is programmed to evade capture. She lunges again and runs headfirst into the wall. Definite snow-burn.

Kato lets her exhaust herself before he appears. No prob. She still has plenty of energy left to scream.

Loud voice. I can see why she's good at public speaking. Lucky I hit the mute button before she can deafen me.

Kato stalks forward, menace in every step. Someone has been taking Bat lessons.

"Tonight I have some for what is mine."

I hear what he means. She hears what he says.

"You sodding bastard!" She staggers against the wall. Nasty feedback. "Don't think you can blackmail me. I can have your ass now as easy as I ever could." She pulls herself back upright. "Easier."

"Then why did you not do so... last time?"

"I donn...didn't want the hassle. That was pin money. But a whore like you should stick to what they're worth."

"Do you think those few dollars is justice for a life? For my loss?"

That freaks her. "Pervert! I always knew you were after Britt's money."

Like she didn't kill him for it? All in all I'd rather be fucked.

"Britt's money?"

Uh ohh. Actor leaving the script.

"Do you not consider it yours?"

"It *is* mine. It was always mine. Like Britt was before you came and you made him sick like you." She's shaking, and her face is almost purple. I wonder if she's entirely rational. For a murderess, I mean.

"So you killed him."

"I *saved* him." She's borderline for stroke. So slurred now it's hard to make out he words. "Everyone was talking and he wouldn't marry me and Ed said they'd find out my boyfriend was a faggot and I'd lose the election and everyone would laugh and it wasn't *fair*. It wasn't FAIR, damn you. That you should have him and he'd give you everything and I'd have nothing when he was *supposed* to marry me."

She takes deep breath, reclaiming some composure.

Kato advances. "So you killed him."

"I made it right. I made it the way it should be. That's my job."

Forget jail. This ones headed for Arkham. Or whatever the local place is called.

"And Scanlon?"

"He said he was Britt's friend, but he wouldn't help him. I wanted to get Britt to a doctor, but Scanlon wouldn't let the judge sign the papers."

"And Casey?"

"She shouldn't have said those bad things about my Britt. About him and you! I told her to write how he loved me, but she kept talking about you."

"And the FBI men. Why did you kill them?"

"They deserved it. Tolerating your perversion." Voice even. She's on comfortable ground now. "They were the law. They should have arrested you and saved my Britt. But they didn't care. They only cared about their headlines and their stupid smugglers. So they deserved to die with you."

Holy... Another gun. Big barreled 44. This time one I haven't messed with. Pointed at his chest. Her voice is calm and her hand is steady. Too steady. I know she is totally gone from us.

"You were the one who really needed to die. Not Britt. Just you. I would have forgiven him. Would have married him and sent him to a hospital. But he died and you lived."

I count my trajectory. Three seconds from me to her. Might as well be three weeks. Kato has the gas-gun. Effective in these close quarters. But at the first twitch she'll fire.

"Now you'll die and I'll live. I'll live with my Britt the way I always planned."

And she starts to raise her aim…

Kato is fast, but not quite fast enough. He fires first, but she gets off one round before she collapses. The impact flings him back against the tunnel wall. Blood spatters the camera, obscuring our view.

Clark tumbles from the closet where the press is hidden. Probably somewhat faster than he should have, but who cares. Clips Bromley upside the head, but she is already out of it. Permanently is my guess. Clark didn't stop to check on his way to Kato.

Jimmy and Lois follow.

Lois has the brains to cuff Bromley. Just in case.

Jimmy just hangs back and catches it all on film. Not that he doesn't have it all on the room cameras. But they aren't art. I never will understand Jimmy or Kyle.

Linda smiles and gets herself in the pictures. I'd slap her for it, but Jimmy goes along. Just doing her job.

I switch to the other cameras and wait for Batman. Do we move?

Clark is kneeling by Kato. Checking his pulse and wiping the blood from his nose. Not broken, he signs. Guess the wall hit him at an angle. Just some veins burst from the shock. I relax. Clark's probably giving him an X-ray once-over. Damn hard hit for an old man. He'll have bruises for a month. But the Kevlar held.

Lois calls in the ambulance. Smart lady. Already on her speed dial.

Kato is standing by the time it arrives. Talking with Lois. The paramedics insist on carrying him out anyway. I think he would have refused but Lois joins them. Nobody resists Lois. She's one of the forces of nature. So Jimmy gets some great shots of the fallen hero. Very moving.

The police come for Bromley. Clark and Jimmy ride along to see that they do their jobs. Linda sets up on the lawn and chats up the Chief of Police once he shows. Not that it matters. Bromley comes out of the gas, but she never really comes back. She doesn't resist her arrest. Just keeps asking for Britt. Her fiancé.

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Batman and I have to stay in place until the house is empty. That comes just before sunrise. There are still a few cops on posted on the lawn. Mostly to keep folks from getting in. Souvenir hunters and the press. No problem. We are headed out. They don't even look up.

We make it back to the hanger unnoticed. Back in Gotham by noon. I even make roll call for my shift.

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I followed the rest of the story on the news. Lots of speculation. As a Senator, Claudia Bromley had been pretty popular. Highways, local parks, that sort of shit. Lots of people wanted to make excuses for her. Add to that the Hornet crew didn't have the best rep. But with a murder confession on tape your sympathy factors pretty much screwed.

Bromley's house sharks made a few noises about extortion and breaking and entering, but since Bromley never made trial it just never came up.

Kato spent most of the next week in the hospital. Shock damage and swelling to the peritoneum. It was a damn hard hit. His family flew in and looked worried. Hay and his wife and her family and all their kids. Looked photogenic. Gave press interviews saying how much they loved their dad. Bored everybody with good works.

Turns out the police 'discovered' the hidden closet. After all but being told where it was, of course. Found the original will tucked in with a mushy note. That 'proved' Bromley's guilt as far as the press was concerned.

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Linda Park West, of course, broke the *real* story. She's got this chick show on KOST. Hug and sob stuff. Did it from beside Kato's hospital bed. Ratings went through the roof. Lois followed her headline with a three-parter, and probably a book deal. She writes like the voiceless choir sings, only maybe more so. A snip here, a twist there, and a legend was reborn.

Bromley was gone, so this time Kato got to write the story. I think he was even willing to tell the truth. Clark talked him out of it. Seems in all our righteousness there was one point we overlooked. Gay may not be a crime, but kidnapping is. I know. Hay was an abandoned orphan. But how do you prove that after fifty years? I mean, the kid didn't even know he was adopted. Or rather that he wasn't. Kent would think of that. He has the same problem. From the other side. In the end, Bromley's crimes were just put down to greed. Kato remained the loyal side-kick, Britt Reid's 'lifelong friend', struggling alone to bring a killer to justice. Hero types do that.

Even the note passed without comment. Kato was "my partner and my better soul".

As Mitzy says 'so that's what they call it'.

Alan Scott flew in and simply took over. Kept management on course. All that willpower. Besides the reassurance of having a known super-hero and world-class CEO at the helm. Made it clear which side was the angels.

Cassandra came back from Molokai with a tan. She's mentioned going back there to college. Seems she and one of the cousins really hit it off. They keep in touch.

Lucas lined up some real legal eagles. The Bromley will crumpled like toilet paper. It took about two years, but in the end Kato got it all. He's back in the house and everything. Had it restored to it's 1930's glory. Gives great parties. I had tickets for the Free Clinic Ball, but I ended up working that weekend. Bruce went. Said Ikano looked happy. He's doing good work. There's some talk of asking him to run for Congress. Seems there's a seat open. Don't think he will.

Neither his kid or grandkids were too eager for the cash. Hay took a bit to build a hospital for orphans in Lassa, so I guess someone had a family talk. Eventually most of it went to the Britt Reid Foundation. Scholarships in automotive engineering and poetry. Kent hinted at journalism, but he's not too disappointed. Ed Lowery is back running the Sentinel. That means lots of jobs for KSU graduates. Good enough.

Scott picked up the radio stations. No one else got to bid. Guess the old guys stick together.

Bruce reopened the mine and made a mint. Pun intended. Seems that little shaker opened up a new vein of silver. It's running three shifts. Which means the dastardly duo gets to keep their jobs. Like I said, with Bruce it's results. I can live with that. As long as she's there and he's here.

The Black Beauty was given to the Smithsonian. It's on display with their uniforms and guns. I wanted to see it there, but tickets are still hard to get.

 

THE END

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©KKR 2011


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